Second Chances
by KyrieofAccender
Summary: Erik's had enough of the superficiality of Paris and leaves it behind for the quiet and solitude of Perros. But it's not long before the villagers notice the ghost that haunts the heath and an angel appears. Novel length, complete!
1. The Last Straw

A/N: Bonjour, mes amis, and welcome to my third novel-length phanfic on this site, _Second Chances_. I intend for this one to be darker than my usual fare, definitely darker than _Love the Stars_... Gareth, I think you'll enjoy this one. Something tells me that there will be quite a lot of Kay influence this time round...

The Usual Disclaimer: I do not own Erik, Christine, The Paris Opera, the town of Perros-Guirec, any songs that may crop up, et al. Anything you recognize or I cite is the property of someone else, and anything you do not recognize is mine. End Disclaimer.

Enjoy!

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Chapter 1: The Last Straw 

_4th April 1878_

The evening was warm and pleasant for the Parisians strolling along the streets of the City of Lights. Children played in the streets, taking advantage of the spring weather and the extra daylight, worrying the carriage horses. There were even many couples walking together, hand in hand, under the gradually darkening azure sky. After all, _l'amour toujours_…

One man, however, was not enjoying his walk at all. In fact, he was bemoaning the pleasant weather, as it drew so many more people out of their homes and onto the streets when usually the crowds were gone.

Erik just wanted night to fall. He was comfortable in darkness. Agitatedly, he jerked the brim of his fedora hat a little lower over his mask, wishing it wasn't so glaringly white. He walked briskly, unlike the rest of the people out that evening, all of whom strolled along at a leisurely pace. Everyone he passed turned to stare at him, disconcerted by the brusque manner of the austere gentleman whose black cloak billowed around his tall, broad-shouldered form and whose half-mask glinted very slightly in the waning sunlight.

Suddenly, Erik heard the conspirings of two young boys, _felt _them pointing at him and laughing in anticipation. He was determined to ignore them.

One of the boys made this nearly impossible, however, as he intentionally slammed right into Erik's side, catching him off-guard for once and nearly knocking him over.

"Sorry, monsieur!" the boy said cheekily, taking hold of Erik's arm as though pretending to steady him.

Erik shrugged the boy off gruffly and continued walking, but the boy followed doggedly.

"I said I was sorry, didn' I?" he continued, jogging to keep up with Erik's long strides.

Stiffly, Erik kept walking, ignoring the little imp as best he could, but the impudent lad's taunts were beginning to be noticed by other people on the street.

"Whatsa matter, mister, cat got your tongue? I said I was sorry, aren't'cha gonna say anything?"

Erik let out a barely audible snarl. This boy was beginning to try his patience severely…

"'S'at mask on too tight for you to talk or sumthin'? C'mon, I- _yaaah!_"

The boy screamed as Erik whirled to face him; his eyes widened with fear at the look on the face of the man he'd been tormenting. Erik was bent low to be at eye level with the little tramp, growling low in his throat, his long fingers curled into fists.

But what was truly frightening was the look of cold fury in his black eyes. In that instant, the boy knew three things – one, that he had touched a nerve when he'd brought up the mask; two, that this man had killed before; and three, he would not hesitate to do it again.

"Ames! Oi! That man's gonna kill my friend, and he didn't do anything!"

_Damn. _He'd forgotten the other boy… and now had quite a lot of unwanted attention focused on him.

"I didn' do anuthing, sir, I'm sorry! Please don't kill me!" the boy called Ames whimpered.

"What's going on?" someone nearby asked nervously.

The questions suddenly erupted from everywhere around him.

"Who is that man?"

"Why is he wearing a mask?"

"That poor boy, someone help him!"

Ames, always quick to act, began to cry, blubbering apologies and pleas at Erik as he scrambled backwards, away from the scary black-cloaked figure.

"A policeman! Someone find a policeman!"

_Damn, damn, and damn_, Erik thought. That wretched boy was still wailing about his innocence, and people were beginning to close in on him… time to make a quick exit.

He turned and began to briskly walk away, careful to keep his cloak furled around him and the brim of his hat low in case there was a chance that he could lose himself in the next crowd that had not seen anything…

"Hey! You there! You're not getting away with that so easily!" someone shouted, running up to catch him.

So they had notified a policeman. Brilliant. The man continued to yell after Erik even when he slowed almost to a crawl and the gendarme was still shoving his way forward.

"May I help you, monsieur?" Erik said icily as the policeman reached him, not turning around.

The gendarme was visibly startled by his quarry's calm, cold tone and the fact that he had stopped to allow him to reach him…

"I've had it from several eye witnesses that you assaulted a boy, just over there…"

"Ha. I would say it was really more the other way around. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

"Not so fast, you! Hey…!"

The policeman reached out to grab Erik by the arm, but he was too slow. Sharply, Erik swung around, his fist preceding the rest of his body, and he hit the gendarme squarely in the jaw. The other man toppled over, crashing into three other people walking by, and Erik turned and ran.

Other people had seen what had happened, though, and immediately he was accosted by four other men… he easily slipped through their grasps, trying to head in the general vicinity of the darkened alley one block over… when he reached that, he would be free of this insanity.

Suddenly, something small and hard rocketed into his stomach. Instinctively, he lashed out, connecting with something, presumably the person who had hit him. This was a determined attacker, however, for no sooner had Erik regained his balance and begun to look around, sure that he had sent whoever he'd struck sprawling, that he felt small, sweaty fingers scrape against his face and tear away his hat… and his mask.

It was Ames. He should have known…

The boy stood in shock, holding the mask in his hand, staring up at the grossly disfigured face of the man in front of him. Another second passed, and suddenly the small crowd around him erupted with gasps and screams…

With a roar, Erik grabbed his mask and pulled it back on, not withholding the blow that wretched boy fully deserved this time… and this time he _was _sent sprawling.

As everyone looked towards the boy, Erik was finally given the diversion he needed. Not caring who he shoved aside, he raced towards the alleyway, vanishing into the black shadows the moment he stepped into them. On any other occasion, he would have laughed to hear the crowd shouting after him, the policeman's promise to find him… _damn that boy! _

Furious, he stormed back to the Paris Opera, slipping through a secret side entrance and swooping up the grand staircase… he had thought it was late enough to do that without being seen, but apparently he was wrong… as he turned a corner, he nearly ran headlong into a gaggle of ballet girls.

He cursed violently as they all screamed and scattered, flapping about like demented pigeons in their need to flee the Phantom. Normally, their reaction would have amused him, but now it only heightened his black mood. _Was there nowhere, no one, he could turn to for solace? Damn! _

Why was he even asking? Why was he even wondering? He was a monster, a murderer, a demon, a devil… there was no compassion for him, there was no sympathy or understanding! No! No, he was a thing, a creature to be despised and beaten and tormented… and he always would be…

And all because of his _excuse for a face! _

He had finally reached his house on the lake, a place that no longer felt like home. _Enough! _He had had enough of the City of Lights, of the hundreds of eyes just waiting to stare at him, of everything! Enough, _enough!_ He would leave this dark and dismal place, walk away and never look back, just as he had always done before…

He would have to wander to the ends of the earth to find what he sought… for no human could ever care for a heartless, soulless, _monster_ with the face of a demon!

With a roar of fury, Erik slammed his fist into the sole mirror in his house, watching with a sort of detached pleasure as it shattered into a thousand glimmering pieces that exploded out and scattered across the floor…

* * *

A/N: This is a bit of a trial chapter to see how it's received... keep in mind that it has not gone through my betas yet, so apologies in advance for any mistakes you might find. Please point them out, and I will fix them as best I can. I plan on writing like a maniac over this four-day weekend to get this fic off the ground... and of course I haven't abandoned LtS! I'll be working on that one as well; this will probably be secondary until LtS is complete. I give you fair warning for sporadic updates, and again, apologies in advance. 

Ahem. I think that's all I have to blither on about. Well, as always, please let me know what you think, and thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	2. An Old Acquaintance

A/N: I'm afraid this chapter's a bit short... I'm dreadfully sorry.

Thanks very much to ladyAlyafaelyn, Angelicerik12, Guy Alice, The Mouse in the Opera House (awesome pen name, btw), Ceinwyn, Emmy6 and I'm stalking you (also bloody creative) for their great reviews! Hope you guys like this chapter as well!

Just a note: over the past few days, I've reread Susan Kay's brilliant novel _Phantom_. Best book I've ever read, I think... I'd have read it a lot faster were it not for school... ugh. Anyway, my characterization is going to be very heavily influenced by her writing; next chapter, I even started playing with perspectives. I hope you like that, and please tell me if I fail completely at Erik's multi-layered personality.

Enjoy!

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Chapter 2: An Old Acquaintance

_5th April 1878_

"Erik! What in the world have you done to your hand?"

Erik looked up from the chess set to frown at the lanky Persian man, his old friend Nadir.

"Mirror," he said tersely.

Nadir sighed, sitting down opposite Erik. The other man's right hand was tightly bound with white linen strips, reddened in some places where blood had seeped through.

"Were you intending to tell me why you shattered a mirror with your hand, or do you mean to leave me to wonder?"

"The latter seems far more preferable, Daroga," Erik replied with his usual cynicism, smiling sardonically at Nadir.

"You are simply impossible, Erik, do you know that?"

"I've been told before."

Nadir could not help but laugh. At times like this, Erik truly could be impossible to deal with… but at the same time, there was something quite endearing in that impossibility.

"All right, since you are determined to be difficult, I shall be nosy. What were you doing last night that made you so angry?"

"I went for a walk."

"A walk? You?" Nadir said incredulously, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, a walk, and yes, me. I do not shut myself away inside this damned Opera House indefinitely."

"And why were you out for a walk yesterday evening?"

"There were certain errands that needed to be done; there _are_ items that cannot be found five floors below the ground, you know."

"You do enjoy being vague, don't you, Erik?"

"Immensely," Erik replied, smiling his catlike grin again.

"What were you looking for?" Nadir pressed.

"If you _must _know, I ran out of ink in the middle of a composition. Have I satisfied your curiosity?"

"Not entirely; my curiosity is insatiable," the Daroga responded, attempting to fire some of Erik's own brand of wit back at him. Erik, however, was determined as always to have the last word.

"Yes, I have noticed that on occasion. What a pity."

"All right. Now, what happened on this walk?"

"Nothing," Erik snapped, his relaxed sarcasm vanishing instantly as Nadir began to pry further.

"Nonsense. If nothing had happened, you would not have lacerated your hand and we would not be having this discussion." Nadir leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand and waiting for Erik to elaborate.

Erik said nothing, merely glared across the table at the Persian man. Two could play at this game…

"Erik, silence is going to get you nowhere. Is it so horrible that you cannot explain it to an old friend? Or is it that I will disapprove of your conduct?"

"I acted no differently than you would expect," Erik answered tersely.

"Erik! Please tell me you haven't killed someone!"

"Of course not."

"Then what on earth has happened?"

"_Nothing_."

"Erik, I am just as determined as you are…"

"Somehow, I doubt that," Erik interrupted.

"… and you might as well tell me what's happened, or I will find out on my own and I can guarantee that my nosing around will raise some odd and unwanted questions…"

"All right! Damn it, Nadir, if you _ever_ did something like that …" Erik snarled, shooting to his feet with a violent gesture.

"My question, Erik," the Daroga prompted. Of course, he would never endanger Erik by provoking such questions, and now he had gotten his friend's temper up and had to tread carefully… but he would get his answers.

"_Fine_," Erik spat. "A wretched little boy and his friend decided to make a sport of the man in the mask… and managed to draw the attention of the entire street and a gendarme. _Satisfied?_"

Nadir raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that that was only the beginning. Erik snarled and turned in a sharp circle, sorely wishing that Nadir would give up. That wasn't going to happen, though, and he knew it.

"A bit of a scuffle ensued, and this selfsame little urchin managed to tear my mask off in the middle of the damned street."

Ah. So that was why Erik was so furious…

"I am tired, Nadir, tired of this whole damned city!"

"Oh? What's brought this on? Not just the boy, I imagine."

"No… no, that was merely the last I can stand. No, it's that everyone in this Opera screams and runs every time they see a shadow, because they believe it's me… it's that every time I venture out, even during the darkest hour of night, there are eyes there waiting, watching… damn it, _staring _at me; a whole bloody city waiting to goggle at the Living Corpse, the Man in the Mask, the _monster!_"

"A tad dramatic, don't you think, Erik?"

"You know it's the truth, Nadir. The human race is so damned… _superficial_… they all run the moment they see me coming! _And well they should!_"

"Erik, calm down. Ranting at me will not solve anything."

Erik ignored him.

"I will never be able to find some semblance of peace of mind while surrounded by _people_, Nadir."

"Need I remind you that you _are _human, Erik?" Nadir calmly pointed out.

Erik simply glared; he was tempted to toss his mask aside and shout 'Is this the face of a human being?' But he did not… his mask was his final shield… not something he could discard haphazardly.

"All right, my old friend, I can tell you've made up your mind. What exactly are you planning to do?"

Erik stared directly at Nadir, and the Persian man was surprised at the look on his friend's face. His black eyes had always been almost… hypnotic, as much a weapon as his captivating, commanding voice, but there was something different there now. Behind the usual iciness, there was what seemed to be an infinite sadness, a realization that even if he admitted that he so desperately needed human compassion, he would never be able to find it. When Erik finally spoke again, his voice was unusually hoarse and rough.

"Pick a direction and keep going. I'll go to the ends of the earth if I have to."

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A/N: Erik's sarcastic remarks are just such fun to write!!! Please, let me know what you think - your feedback is always helpful and appreciated. And, as always, thanks for reading! --Kyrie 


	3. Preparations

A/N: ZOMG I am SOOOOOOOO sorry!!! I knew this chapter would likely be later in coming than my usual weekly update schedule, but this is ridiculous! I am terribly, terribly sorry for the wait - the school play has run my life for the past two weeks. Now that it (and my monster essay) are out of the way, I have time to write again. Yay!

Thanks very much to I'm stalking you, ladyAlyafaelyn, Me, and Luckii.Jinx for their reviews! Hope you guys like this chapter as well!

Just a note: I've decided to play around a little with perspectives in this story. Sometimes it'll be in first person, other times in third. If that's confusing, PLEASE let me know so I can fix it now, early on. Thanks! And enjoy.

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Chapter 3: Preparations

_12th April 1878_

This was truly lamentable. In my perhaps slightly rash decision to leave Paris behind forever, I had forgotten one thing: I could hardly drag my piano with me.

It was of little importance. I had realized that I wouldn't be able to bring most of my things with me; I would simply have to seal them up inside the house on the lake and somehow have them transported once I was settled elsewhere.

The question was, _where?_

I had had a week already to think on it, and still no answer presented itself. There was no debate on _what_ I would bring. My violin would accompany me – to leave all of my music behind would surely destroy what few claims to sanity I still possessed – as would whatever clothes would fit in a manageably sized pack… and my funds, of course. Three years was far too long to have enjoyed a salary of twenty thousand francs a month to simply abandon that now. Besides, I had been quick to learn that fewer questions were asked when there was money involved.

I also knew that wherever I was going, I would be walking. Hiring a brougham was entirely out of the question, as I didn't have any idea of where I was headed. The prospect of another several years of aimless wandering did not appeal to me, but it seemed that I had no choice. Perhaps I ought to travel along the Seine for the time being, follow it north to the villages of Normandy or _Côtes-d'Armor_… I was not so short-sighted as to believe for a moment that I could isolate myself completely from humans, but the less populated, the better.

And I had heard that the organ in the _Notre-Dame _Cathedral in Rouen was quite spectacular…

* * *

_15th April 1878_

For most of the morning, Messieurs Debienne and Poligny ignored the mail sitting on their respective desks. There was simply too much going on for them to care much about letters. One of the set pieces had broken early on in rehearsal, causing there to be a two and a half hour wait for the performers while the stagehands hauled it upright again and fixed it. This had caused La Carlotta to throw another fit of temper and threaten to walk out for the fourth time that month. And so it was with an enormous groan that, when finally sorting through the envelopes later that afternoon, Poligny groaned far louder than usual when he found the all-too-familiar black bordered letter hiding amongst the other papers.

"Damn it all, what could he possibly want this time?" he cried irritably, tearing the envelope open roughly and unfolding the note with an angry flourish.

After reading through it once, he stared at the note in shock and then reread it immediately before giving an entirely uncharacteristic triumphant yell.

"What in the world, Ètienne…?"

"Look at this, look!" Poligny cried excitedly. He then brandished the letter and read it aloud:

"_Messieurs Debienne and Poligny; _

_It is with great regret that I send you this note, although I daresay that this is not a feeling the two of you will share._

_ I must inform you that, after three years, I have given up the hope that the two of you will ever be competent enough to run my Opera in any sort of satisfactory manner, and have decided to relinquish the position of resident ghost. _

_A few last suggestions before my advice becomes entirely unavailable: I would dismiss Carlotta Giudicelli with all haste. The woman murders every note that issues from her mouth. I would also consider replacing some members of the orchestra: Poulin can never keep his viola in tune and every note Fortin plays is overblown. _

_I do not doubt that the quality of this Opera will deteriorate without my guidance, but then, I shall leave the guilt to the two of you. _

_No doubt you are wondering whether I am pulling some sort of elaborate prank, and am not truly intending to leave. I assure you that I am in all honesty quite tired of this city and you will not be hearing from me again. In a few weeks' time, you shall be entirely rid of me. _

_I remain, gentlemen, your obedient servant;_

_O.G._"

Debienne stared blankly at Poligny for quite some time, thoroughly shocked.

"Ètienne… do you honestly think that this is true?"

"My good man, has he every actually lied? No, Cheval, we're finally rid of that troublesome bastard!"

"About time, I'd say," Debienne muttered, and the subject was dropped. The Opera Ghost was spoken of as little as possible, even under circumstances as fortuitous as these.

* * *

_24th April 1878_

Nadir found Erik bent over a box on the floor of his music room, compositions scattered completely haphazardly in every direction. The Persian man could have sworn that he had not made a sound – in fact, he was just about to make his presence known – but Erik looked up at him and gave him one of his typical catty smiles.

"Ah, Nadir, I was wondering whether you would come today. I could use your help with this," he said, indicating the mess.

Nadir settled himself on the floor and sifted through a pile of manuscript paper; bits and pieces of whole scores, completed arias, snatches of sonatas, all of Erik's incredible musical genius lay at his fingertips. And his friend was stacking everything into boxes.

"So you really are set on going, then?"

"Yes, Nadir, I am," he replied shortly, concentrating on a piece of music he was holding. He was frowning at it for some reason.

"What is that, Erik?" Nadir asked, curious and completely lacking in any sort of musical expertise.

"A variation on Pachelbel's _Canon in D_. I've never been entirely satisfied with it."

"Ah, I see. Do you do many variations?"

"No. I dislike tampering with masterpieces, although every once in a while I will hear something that so captures my attention that the main theme will work its way into my composition. The rising note pattern of the Moonlight Sonata underscoring one of my melodies has happened often enough."

Nadir could only nod. Even though he knew Erik had put that into the simplest terms possible, he had been rather lost. Absently, and knowing that Erik was not presently in the mood for conversation, he began to look around through the piles of music until he found one with words in a language he understood.

_When stars are born, are they cast out  
To wander cold and lonely lost in space?  
A loveless point of light that can't return  
Forever fixed within one place?_

_When love is lost and dreams are cast  
Like bruised and battered pieces left to die,  
When hands that reach out are betrayed  
How can my tortured soul survive?_

_There's only thing left  
And that's the one thing that I needed most of all,  
For the freedom that I gained   
Is the loss that led me aimless to the shore._

_And I'm borne high on these waves  
Swept by the wind and alone.  
Oh, sail me away, carry me back to my home.  
I'm tired, I've been torn,  
A cruel, wretched storm churns like a gale in my bones.   
Oh sail me away, carry me back to my home._

Erik had to have written those words only recently, what with the mental turmoil he had been experiencing of late. All his friend's frustrations, his yearning to be accepted and yet his scorn of humanity, all exemplified in black, spidery writing beneath meticulously drawn notes. He ferreted around for the rest of the song, found it, and carefully put all the music together.

"Do you plan to take all of this with you?" he asked suddenly.

"Of course not. I haven't the faintest idea of where I shall end up – I can hardly trudge across France with everything I own, can I? No, once I've found… somewhere, I'll arrange for the rest of my things to be shipped there. It simply makes life easier to pack it all up now."

"And are you going to keep all of this music? There really is quite a lot…"

Erik chuckled and looked up from the box again.

"If you would like to take some, then by all means help yourself. Much of it I haven't looked at in months, at least. I did not take you for one interested in sheet music, Daroga, but if you are so inclined, I'm not stopping you."

After a moment, Nadir nodded.

"Thank you," he said, then began to sort through some more of the music.

Perhaps there was one more thing he could do for his old friend. Perhaps there was one small taste of normalcy that he could give him, if only he could find the right pieces… If he could gather some of Erik's beautiful music, just maybe there would be a way to show him that the world might think it beautiful as well.

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A/N: So, were the perspective jumps too confusing? I hope not.

That song is called "Sail Me Away," from Elton John's latest Broadway endeavour, _Lestat_. It's really awful that they're not releasing the cast album... Hugh Panaro is amazing, and he sings that song. I just thought it was rather fitting.

As always, please let me know what you think, and thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	4. The Grey Light of Dawn

A/N: Oh my God I am SOOOOOOOO sorry!!! I honestly meant to post this last weekend, but then I wanted beta approval and was going to post on Monday... but this week has been awful for remembering things. I forgot about... well, just about everything academic going on this week. I would also like to have a nice bank of chapters in case I get stuck with horrible writer's block... but this story just doesn't seem to be getting off the ground. Don't worry, I'm going to do it - I've loads of ideas for later, but none for now. Which is irksome. Again, I'm TERRIBLY sorry about this!!!

Thanks very much to ladyAlyafaelyn, The Slate Reaper, IceCrystalline, Signora Aligheri, and Luckii.Jinx for their reviews!

* * *

Chapter 4: The Grey Light of Dawn

_27th April 1878_

"That's done, then," Erik said matter-of-factly as he packed the last of his things into the last box and pushed it into the pile. "My thanks, Nadir."

The Persian could only nod. Erik's house on the lake, once so full of beauty and music, was suddenly bare and silent… it was a very odd, very abrupt transition.

"You are sure about this, then?" he asked at last.

"Of course I am. I never do anything I'm not sure of," was his friend's stiff reply, although he was looking somewhere past Nadir.

"Yes… I suppose you're right. You were probably the _only _person in all of Persia entirely sure of themselves."

Fortunately, this statement caused Erik to chuckle briefly. Nadir smiled as well, then turned to leave the library, but then saw that one of Erik's smaller possessions had escaped the packing crate. He had thought Erik had only left out anything too large to fit into a box – furniture, a few of his instruments – but it seemed that Nadir was mistaken, for there, sitting on its customary spindly-legged table, set and waiting for them, was the chess set.

"You forgot…"

"No, I didn't," Erik interrupted, already having seen him stare at the black-and-white pieces for several seconds. "You usually come to my home for a game of chess; why should tonight be any different?"

Nadir smiled.

"Which, of course, means that I will once again be soundly beaten."

Erik returned Nadir's gesture with a wry smile of his own.

"If you choose to look at it that way," he said with a grin.

Nadir turned out to be right. He was a competent enough chess player, but far more than mere competence was needed to square off against Erik! Once again he considered himself lucky that they had only ever engaged in friendly games and did not bet any money on the outcome.

"Checkmate," Erik finally said, ending the game at last.

"I told you you'd win, Erik," Nadir said, stretching. "Now, I dare say you'd like to watch tonight's performance, so I'll be on my way…"

Erik nodded and got to his feet as well, clearly with the intent of accompanying Nadir to the door. He didn't usually do this… was he planning on leaving so soon?

"I'll see you again, Erik," he said, stopping just before opening the door and leaving Erik's house on the lake for what looked like the last time, trying to sound as casual as he could.

"Of course, Daroga," Erik replied, but he knew that in all likelihood this would be the last he would see of his old friend.

Nadir clapped Erik on the shoulder and smiled at him for a moment, then turned and left, only just catching Erik's soft reply:

"_Adieu, mon ami_."

* * *

Of course I wanted to attend that evening's performance. I did, after all, intend it to be my last appearance.

Although, tempted as I was to cause one last little disaster – Carlotta was worse than usual that evening, if it was possible – I held myself back. Better to let the Ghost die quietly, I thought.

They were giving _Faust_. Carlotta made a most despicable Marguerite, but the girl playing Seibel was far more tolerable than others of the company. Perhaps she would be given a chance if that Giudicelli woman ever left the company.

Now, _that _would be the day!

The final trio struck a greater chord for me that night than it ever had before… I cannot say why. Even Carlotta's horrendous screeching could not completely mask Marguerite's desperate pleading for salvation… _Dieu juste, à toi je m'abandonne!_

_Just God, I abandon myself to you_…

As the curtain fell and the applause began, I laughed at myself for such sentimentality. I was simply being ridiculous.

Later, however, I couldn't resist leaving behind one last note. Call it melodramatic, but I simply could not resist. The ballet girls – Madame Giry was keeping them after the performance for more rehearsal, something they desperately needed - squealed and flitted around as they watched the white parchment float down to the stage, where the ballet mistress picked it up. She opened it, then looked up towards me. I was immensely surprised, but perhaps in my anxiousness to see their response I was not as cautious at keeping myself hidden as usual, for she caught my eye and gave me a curt nod. Her own farewell.

One of the ballet girls – her daughter, I believe – asked what the note said, sounding immensely curious. I smiled and shook my head as I stepped back into the waiting shadows and listened to her read my note aloud:

_The Opera Ghost has seen the curtain fall for the last time._

_I trust you will keep my theatre in decent condition._

_Adieu;_

_O.G._

The ballet girls were silent for much longer than usual before bursting into confused chatter. Good. Exactly what I had wanted – many thought it was a bluff. Perhaps I would be remembered here.

I returned to my home to gather the few things I would take with me. After a few minutes of staring at the violin case at my feet, I opened it, tested the strings briefly and began to play. Strangely enough, it began as the finale of _Faust_, but soon changed to something else. I was playing something completely off the top of my head, something I knew I would never remember to write down. It was a song I felt that I had heard somewhere, sometime very long ago… but each time I tried to remember it, the memory darted out of my grasp.

Such is the difficulty with recollection. It never is there when you are most in need of it, and sharpest when it would be best to do without it.

At last I put away my violin, feeling strangely tired. I stretched and yawned, falling back into an armchair to catch a few hours' sleep.

* * *

_28th April 1878; early_

The sun had not fully risen when he left the Palais Garnier through his secret entrance on the Rue Scribe. If anyone had been watching, they would only have seen a shadow flicker across the white building, only to vanish once more into the darkness still enveloping the Parisian streets.

He did not pay much attention to his surroundings as he walked to the Seine and began to follow the river northward; he wanted only to quit the city as quickly as possible, leave before the sun rose and people began spilling onto the now-deserted streets. His last journey into Paris during daylight had not, after all, gone particularly well…

But he did see the faint tinge of red and yellow between some of the buildings to the east. The streets, homes, and great edifices of Paris were cast into a dark shadow by the bright watercolor in the dawn sky…

His steps quickened, his black cloak swirling out behind him. He pulled the straps of his two bags more securely onto his shoulder, tightened his grip on the handle of his violin case, all the time hearing the same phrase from last night's performance goading him on, setting a faster pace…

_Déjà le jour enhavit, enhavit les cieux!_

_Hâtons-nous, hâtons-nous de quitter ces lieux,_

_Déjà le jour envahit les cieux!_

At last, just as the sun rose fully, he reached the outskirts of Paris, glad to look back on the great sprawling city for the last time. The faint excitement of traveling had set in now; he was eager to be off. So, without a second glance back, he set off along the banks of the Seine. Perhaps this time… perhaps this time he would be going in the right direction. Perhaps this time he would do something right for a change, perhaps he could find a place for himself in that cold world…

Yes. Perhaps.

* * *

A/N: For those of you who don't speak French (I don't, but I have the libretto of Faust in both English and French bookmarked and a mother who was a French major): Those four lines in the last section are said to Faust by Mephistopheles in the finale of Faust, and translate something into the effect of "we must leave quickly, the sky is already lightening!" Along those lines. And Erik's bit in the Nadir POV part: there is a significant difference between _adieu _and _au revoir_: _au revoir _means "goodbye, see you later," but _adieu _means "farewell, I'll never see you again."

Quick public service announcement: some of you may have heard that Andrew Lloyd Webber is definitely going to write a sequel to "The Phantom of the Opera" based on Frederick Forsyth's "The Phantom of Manhattan." Which, to me, is more or less complete and utter blasphemy. If any of you are of like mind, please let me know in your review or send me a message. As crazy as it might sound, I'm compiling a petition. Hey, you never know - he might listen.

Thanks for your patience with this chapter; I ask you to hang on for the next one. There is no way that I will abandon this story. At the moment, I'm having a bit of plot-block and I'll need a while to straighten it out. I'd like to finish up LtS as well, if I can, so I haven't got two fics plus however many original stories plus this one jockeying for the foremost position in my head. I'm very sorry about this... I'll get back as quickly as I can, I promise!

As always, please review, and thanks very much for reading! --Kyrie


	5. Freedom

A/N: Yes, a new chapter! Now, don't go passing out on me from the shock...

To make up for the long absence, this is the longest chapter I've written so far for this story... It hasn't been beta-approved yet, but I rather like it, so hopefully there aren't any blatant grammar mistakes that I've missed... Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 5: Freedom 

_28th April 1878_

The moment he left the great city behind, he felt as though he could breathe properly again. He was utterly alone – no one to stare, no one to scream, no one to accuse him. Only the sound of wind in the trees… He did not walk particularly quickly; he was not in any hurry. The horizon lightened very slowly, turning the sky into an elaborate watercolor of blue and gold; he was merely a dark shadow along the riverbank, completely alone.

_I'd forgotten how pleasant this can be_, he thought as he watched the specks of new sunlight dancing on the river. How wonderful it was to have no one at all around him… in Paris, he had been surrounded by people; even, in a way, in his underground home, as the residents of the Opera had been only a few floors above him and were constantly trying to meddle. Grimly, he thought for a moment of what had happened to one Joseph Buquet when he had pried just a little too far…

He shook his head fiercely. That didn't matter now.

* * *

After he had been walking for several hours, Erik sat at the base of a tree, resting. The sun was warm, and he closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree contentedly. There was no one at all nearby, so he had taken off his black fedora and even his mask and set them down beside his pack, thoroughly enjoying a feeling he had seldom – if ever – enjoyed before; the feeling of warm sunlight on his face. 

It wasn't much longer before his fingers began to itch, and obligingly he took his violin out of its well-worn case and tested the strings. The sound carried marvelously on the spring air; it was almost as though it floated away and became part of the wind itself, almost lost in the vastness of the sky.

So lost was he in his music that he didn't hear them until it was almost too late. A little girl's shout suddenly carried to his ears and, like a flash, he shot up the tree, perching precariously on a thick limb, hoping that the foliage concealed him. Sure enough, two children, a boy and a girl, hurried over to where he had been sitting, looking around curiously.

"I was _sure _the music was coming from here!" the boy said disappointedly.

"Olivier, look! Look over here!" the little girl cried, pointing at something.

His pack. His _mask_. He had forgotten that he'd taken it off! What if they saw him…?

The girl reached for the white leather mask and was just about to pick it up…

"_DO NOT TOUCH THAT_," Erik commanded, throwing his voice so that it could not be traced to the tree, but sounded as though his voice boomed from everywhere and nowhere…

The little girl squealed and jumped, her ringlets bouncing up and down furiously as she ran to the boy and buried her face in his chest.

"D-don't you d-dare frighten my s-sister!" the boy stammered, trying to sound brave.

Erik cursed, inwardly but vehemently. If only he had been paying more attention…

"Hush now, child," he said softly, weaving his voice into the gentlest of caresses, almost indistinguishable from the wind itself. "You must not touch my things. But if you are both good and stand very still and shut your eyes very tightly, I will play you one more song. Then you must promise to return home, and you _must not look back_. Do you understand?"

Both children nodded, squeezing their eyes shut, still frightened but now awed into obedience.

Carefully balancing against the tree trunk, Erik began to play again, and the children did exactly as he had asked. He could not see their faces clearly from his position in the tree, but he knew that they were enraptured by the tune. When he had finished, he let the last note fade slowly away, and he waited for the children to remember the last part of the agreement, but for what seemed a long time they simply stood there with their eyes closed. Before he could remind them, however, the boy spoke.

"Thank you, sir," he said quietly, then took his sister's hand and began to turn around.

"Yes, _merci_, _monsieur ange_!" the girl echoed, then skipped off with her brother. Neither one looked back.

Once he could no longer see them, he climbed carefully down from the tree and snatched up his mask. He did not know whether to laugh or to curse. It was lucky they had not seen him, or that silent awe would have never occurred… and him! An angel! It was perhaps the most absurd thing he had ever heard. 'Monster' he understood, even if he loathed the term – at times, he even agreed. But an angel? Ha.

Still, he thought as he swiftly gathered the rest of his things and began walking north along the river again, the thought was certainly entertaining enough.

_Me. An angel. Who would have thought! And not an angel of Death_…_ a true angel. An Angel of Music. Ha. _

For reasons he couldn't quite explain, that one word kept a small smile on his face for the rest of that day.

* * *

_2nd May 1878_

It could not be avoided any longer. I had reached a small town along the banks of the river, and as I was beginning to run short of supplies, I had little choice but to enter it. I attempted to be as inconspicuous as I could as I made my way towards the center of town – there had to be an inn there, or someplace where I could obtain more food – but it did me little good. It was not even merely my imagination – many of the villagers I passed stopped whatever they were doing to stare in shock at me as I passed, and I felt their stares on my back long after I had put them behind me. Peasants were always the worst… and the further I ventured into the town, the more I regretted entering it.

The path I was on followed a bend in the river, and suddenly I came upon a man struggling to fasten the lid onto a wicker basket. There were frightened spitting sounds coming from inside the basket, and I noticed that there were stones tied to the top.

"Keep still, you wretched beast…" the man growled, adding a few more colorful comments afterwards.

I'd heard enough to guess what he was doing. Frowning, I stepped forward to intervene.

"May I inquire as to what is in the basket, monsieur?" I asked calmly.

The man had not heard me come up behind him, and as he jumped, he nearly dropped the basket into the river. I caught it swiftly and busied myself with undoing the leather ties, concentrating on looking away from the man's expression. I had seen it often enough, after all.

After a few moments' struggle, I lifted the lid off to find a tiny kitten inside; it could not have been more than a few weeks old. Clearly the bastard had pried it away from its mother as soon as he possibly could. When the little creature turned to me and mewed pitifully, I saw why – the cat, although now dirty and matted, had pure white fur and a pair of mismatched eyes, one blue, one green.

"Why were you trying to drown it?" I asked coldly. People were so cruel to anything smaller, weaker, less fortunate than themselves…

"The thing's deaf as a rock," the man replied nervously. "Not much good for catching rats, eh?"

Gently, I scooped up the kitten and shoved the basket back at the hateful man. Without another word, I turned on my heel and left him staring after me. Someone ought to throw _him _in a river… It was tempting, but I still needed supplies and had no intention of being run out of the town for attempted murder.

I brushed the kitten off as best I could, then settled her on top of my pack. She climbed onto my shoulder a little bit, and I could hear her start to purr out of what I could only assume was gratitude.

At last I found the inn, and my reception there was little different than I had expected after going through the rest of the town. When I found him, the innkeeper could only stare at me for a long moment, gaping at the white mask covering half my face.

"I… I must ask you to remove that mask, monsieur. I'll have only respectable customers here," he said finally.

"You would prefer the mask. I am keeping it on," was my only reply. I hadn't expected that.

"What do you want?" he snapped, a little irritable now, but more than a little afraid.

"Calm down, monsieur, I am hardly here to bite someone's neck," He did not seem to find this as amusing as I did. I continued. "I am merely passing through and am in need of more provisions. If you would be so kind…"

The man vanished at once, clearly glad to get me out of his sight. I looked around at the tavern, the rooms bathed in an almost sickly yellow glow from the fire. The cat on my shoulder pricked her ears as someone knocked over a glass; that man was clearly more of an idiot than I had thought. But as the people seated in the tavern began to notice me, one by one, the inn grew very quiet and tense. I recognized this atmosphere – fear and misunderstanding bred hatred, and hatred bred violence. I would be very glad to quit this place.

The innkeeper finally returned with a wineskin and a very full leather pouch. He shoved them towards me over the grimy countertop, and I paid him far more than was necessary. I should have just taken the food and left, after his reaction to my refusal to remove my mask, but there was one table of men still watching me through narrowed eyes. I exited as quickly as I could.

I ate a little in a deserted alleyway near the northern edge of the town. The kitten greedily lapped up whatever I gave her – the poor thing must have been starving. When I had finished, I packed up my things once again and slipped my pack onto my shoulders.

"You stay away from men with baskets, now, you understand?" I said to her. "You seem intelligent enough to fend for yourself."

The kitten looked up at me and seemed to understand, and so I left her to finish the food I had given her and set off again.

I made no further progress that night. It seemed I had acquired a second shadow; the little white cat followed me every time. It would be far easier for her to feed herself if she stayed near the town, so every time I caught her behind me, I brought her back to the edge of the village. And every time she waited just long enough to make me think she had stayed before following once again.

Apparently someone had noticed that I had not really left the town, however, as several hours after sunset I was confronted by the men who had been watching me at the tavern. The cat curled herself around my ankles, wondering what was going on.

"Good evening, gentlemen," I said cordially.

"Don' give us that shit, man. What're you doing here?" the man at the front asked gruffly. His arms were crossed across his barrel-chested body, and out of his wild mane of matted black hair, his eyes glowered at me.

"Passing through."

"Then why don' yeh leave, and quick, like?" one of the others piped up.

"I was in the process of doing so."

"Allow us to assist you," the man in the front said, and I did not miss the mockery so blatantly added when he suddenly adopted my mode of speech.

"No need," I snapped, and turned to go.

"Not so fast," the big man at the front continued, grabbing me by the shoulder and turning me around again roughly, gripping me hard enough to hold me inches away from his dirty face. "We'll be wanting teh teach you a lesson, see? We don' want you pokin' round here again, got it?"

"Loud and clear," I spat, attempting to jerk away.

"We ain't gonna take the word of some bastard in a mask, are we, boys?" one of the others asked, and they all laughed.

"If you would simply let me go and return to your homes, you will be much better off for not pressing this any further."

They did not heed my warning.

"Get that mask off, Jules! Let's see who the little bugger really is!"

The man holding onto me with a death grip reached for my mask. Luckily, I caught hold of his hand and twisted his arm until he could not help but yelp.

"I am warning you – do not cross me."

The fool did not listen – instead, he let go of my shoulder and punched me hard in the jaw. As I was unprepared I released his wrist and stumbled backwards.

Before I even had time to look up, two of them pounced on me. One of the two leapt back quickly, howling in pain, and I looked down for a split second to see the kitten darting away again and bloody claw marks on his ankle.

The other man, however, reached up and tried to yank my mask away while I wasn't looking. I quickly spun out of his grasp and came up behind him, giving him a good clout to the back of the head. No doubt the ruffian deserved it for more than just attacking me. His companions did not seem to think so, however, and as he fell to the ground one of them pulled out a hunting knife. As I continued to dodge, I began to think that these men had ganged up on people before. I had not encountered trouble of this magnitude since I'd been accosted by a group of Persian soldiers…

One of them wrapped his arm around my throat, and I lashed out behind me at his face. From the crunching sound, the howl of agony he emitted as he released me, and the fact that my hand was now covered with blood, I had broken his nose. Good.

Panting, I turned again to see what else they could possibly throw at me. A second too late. The sharp tip of the hunting knife caught my forearm. I had had enough. I fumbled in my pocked for a split second, and then suddenly that most infamous catgut cord, the Punjab lasso, flew through the air and settled around the man's neck, garroting him quickly. He fell with a thud, and I calmly jerked the noose from around his neck and began recoiling it.

The other men stood astonished and terrified as I coolly placed the cord back into my coat pocket.

"I did warn you," I snarled, and I turned and walked away, pausing only to pick up my pack and my violin case. The cat followed me, and this time I made no move to keep her here.

It wasn't long before the wound on my left arm began throbbing unbearably, shooting lightning jolts of pain up my arm to my chest. Both my hands were now covered with blood – some of it from that bastard's nose, some of it mine. At last I could not stand it any longer, and I collapsed against the base of a willow tree by the bank of the river. Carefully, I washed out the cut and found it had been deeper than I had originally thought it. I wrapped it with my cravat, the only long strip of fabric I had with me, and leaned back against the tree.

I suddenly felt something small and warm settle in my lap, and I opened my eyes to find the little white cat curled up there.

"You might want to find someone else to feed you, you know," I said softly. "I am not the best companion – as you may have seen, I have to fight a good deal."

I could have sworn she smiled at me. But instead of getting up and leaving as I had suggested, she only curled up further, closed her eyes and began to purr. Absently, I scratched her ears as I myself drifted off into a light sleep.

* * *

A/N: Odd-eyed cats: a cat with one blue eye and one eye that is orange, green, or yellow. There is a common misconception that all odd-eyed white cats are born deaf in one ear. About 60-70 percent of odd-eyed white cats have normal hearing.

Now, just because my muse has decided to go into hyperdrive to make up for its earlier shortcomings doesn't mean that I'll be able to write myself a nice bank of chapters for this. I'm going to try, as I'm getting loads and loads of ideas for this (and two other stories as well...) But LtS still must be finished, and I still have that most annoying of things - life - to contend with. I'll try my best not to go this long without updating again, though. I know how frustrating it is!

Please let me know what you think, and thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	6. Night Music

A/N: What's this? A regular sort of update? God forbid!

All kidding aside, here we are. A note before I go any further - this chapter was not intended to offend anyone. The Erik in my story is an adamant atheist, and he makes some cynical comments in this chapter. I hope no one takes anything the wrong way, as nothing was meant to be imposing or insulting.

Thanks very much to -Green-Clown, The Phangirl, Luckii.Jinx, laal ratty, and ladyAlyafaelyn for their reviews! Hope you like it!

* * *

Chapter 6: Night Music 

_7th May 1878 _

"Akilah! Kindly do not sit on my hat," I said firmly.

My little white furry companion blinked sleepily up at me, but she did get up off my hat. She walked towards me, looking up expectantly, raising one paw in my direction; _would you pick me up, please? _she seemed to say. I obliged after straightening out my hat and placing it back on my head and pulling my pack around my shoulders once again. Akilah did not stay long in my arms; she preferred to climb up onto my shoulder and sit perched on the top of my pack. It was easier for both of us that way; I had not called her 'intelligent' for nothing.

We had been traveling together for five days now, mainly at night, avoiding towns and villages unless absolutely necessary. It was now ten days since I had left Paris, and I would enter the city of Rouen that evening. There was little point in turning up in daylight – with my cravat still serving as a bandage and the bottoms of my trousers and my cloak spattered in mud, I would stand out even more than usual, something I intended to avoid at all costs.

I stayed on the edge of the city, carefully hidden, for most of that afternoon. At seven o'clock, I heard the bell in the cathedral spire tolling the hour, and I got to my feet and ventured into the city limits.

Night had not yet completely fallen, but most of the city's inhabitants were busy finishing that day's tasks and returning home for the night. A few people paused to stare, puzzled, at the strange man in the muddy black cloak and the white mask, a white cat perched on his shoulder. Akilah and I had to have made a strange picture… I had to chuckle to myself at the thought.

I spent the evening aimlessly wandering the streets. Although I was in need of more supplies once again, I was loath to enter another tavern. And perhaps I would stay in Rouen for a time… the medieval half-timber construction of many of the homes and other buildings was intriguing. As I continued to wander, I found that parts of the city were built in the medieval style, and others had later, stone architecture. The _Rue St-Romain_ actually had stone buildings on one side and timber and plaster houses on the other! The buildings rose up a few stories above the narrow, cobblestone street, and the silence and darkness added to its slightly eerie feel.

Akilah mewed softly, butting her head against my ear. I could tell she found the deserted streets a little too eerie for her liking. She was more used to grass and trees at this point than misty, echoing cobblestones.

"All right, my sweet. We'll go to another street." She purred gratefully.

After another hour or so, I finally gave in to my desire to explore the city further over a few days and took a room in one of the inns. After I had settled my few belongings, Akilah and I shared a small meal, and I played my violin a little for her, careful to keep quiet. Around midnight, I got up and headed for the door. The streets – and the cathedral – would surely be next to deserted at that point, and I wanted to visit the grand church alone.

My companion seemed to have other ideas, however. She followed me immediately, and I stopped at the door, my hand on the knob.

"You are determined to follow me everywhere, aren't you?" I asked.

In response, she sat on my shoe. Her meaning was clear – I wasn't going anywhere without her.

"Have it your way," I said, and crept quietly out of the inn, Akilah at my heels.

I made sure that I did not make a sound on my way down the stairs and out the main entrance. The innkeeper had not been pleased to see me – they never were – and had been most displeased when he learned that I would likely be staying in Rouen for several days. His manner had been excessively gruff as he had showed me to my room – at least he had not cowered, terrified, as far away from me as he could get. This quiet dislike I could bear with far more ease.

The dark streets were quiet and completely deserted, and I made my way to the cathedral completely unnoticed. Good. I did not want to be seen.

I spent a few minutes walking back and front of the immense Gothic building – I had heard that it was the tallest in the world. The stonework was certainly intricate, the grand façade almost foreboding; oddly enough, the heavy wooden doors surrounded by the black stone of the archway made a very uninviting entrance for a church. I smiled wryly at the thought.

I silently pushed open the door – at least it wasn't locked. That would _truly _say something about Christianity… however absurd the religion itself, however, it did cause beautiful churches and beautiful music to be created. I had to give it that.

And this cathedral was certainly beautiful. The ceiling in the nave was far, far above my head, the sweeping stone almost breathtaking. The dome of windows high above the altar showed a dark sky strewn with stars.

Hidden at the very back of the church was the pipe organ. Instantly intrigued, I swept up past the altar and placed a gentle hand on the ivory keys. The curving lines of the pipes were interesting; I had not seen that before. Some of the pipes were set against the back in a straight line, but others were pulled to the fore and formed columns. I wondered what the instrument sounded like…

I looked around for a moment; the cathedral seemed to be deserted. After all, who would be in a cathedral at a quarter past midnight?

I stretched my long fingers over the keys, hesitating for another moment, then gently pressed downward, the chord perfect. Akilah jumped up onto the organist's bench and mewed at me expectantly. I did not need her encouragement.

I was not stupid enough to think that I could play very loudly without escaping someone's notice, but a soft, quiet movement or two and then I should be able to be on my way without anyone the wiser.

The melody that flowed from my fingers was one I had played before – it was a slippery tune, always there when I least expected it. If I actually tried to play it, it would not come at all, only some mangled heresy of jumbled dissonance. But here, in the quiet of the cathedral, it flowed easily through my fingers and onto the keyboard. It was soft and almost sweet, a gentle song… perhaps the reason I could not actively grasp it was because it spoke of things I have never known, never will know…

Tenderness. Compassion. Hope. Love.

The final notes died away, and I turned to go.

Except that I found myself suddenly face-to-face with a member of the clergy.

"Good evening, monsieur," I said, quickly overcoming my surprise and bowing. If I wanted to get out of this, I would have to play nice and leave quickly.

"The same to you. That was exquisite, sir."

"Thank you."

A short silence followed, in which I considered simply taking that as my exit cue and leaving then and the short, white-haired priest considered what to say next. Something about me – no doubt most things about me – seemed to set him on edge.

"Forgive any impertinence, monsieur, but I must ask what you are doing here so late at night, playing the cathedral's organ without permission, and covering your face in God's house?"

"All excellent questions," I said stiffly. "The answer to the first two are simple – I did not wish to be seen by anyone. The answer to the third is also rather simple – I keep my face covered everywhere and see no reason to change my ways here."

"It is the custom to remove one's hat in a church, sir," the priest continued, and I was sure it would soon lead to a lecture about this also meaning my mask.

"I do not particularly care if it is the custom to do so. I will not. I have had more than enough of being tortured due to your so-called _God's_ creation, and I shall keep it covered," I spat.

The priest looked absolutely horrified.

"Monsieur…!"

"I am not worried about offending any higher power. As far as I'm concerned, there is none. Now if you'll excuse me…"

The priest gasped and gaped at me as I began to move past him.

"Blasphemer!" he finally accused sharply.

I had to laugh.

"I have been called worse in my day. Freak. Monster. The Living Corpse. _Murderer_."

I allowed him to mull that one over. I swept quickly out of the cathedral, my black cloak swirling around me as though I really were some sort of demon from Hell. Akilah trotted beside me, a splash of white and goodness in my shadow.

Needless to say, I did not remain much longer in Rouen.

* * *

A/N: "Akilah" means "intelligent" in Arabic. I seriously want to pick her up out of my story and hug her, she's so amazingly awesome. 

A note: I intend to change the title of this story as soon as possible. When the authoress doesn't know how to pronounce her own title, things get a little... well, weird. I was thinking of "Second Chances," but I'm hoping that something more original will come to mind soon.

Oh, and three guesses as to what Erik plays in the cathedral. The first two don't count.

Please let me know what you think, guys! Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	7. Deja Vu

A/N: Heya! Sorry it's been so long since I updated this, but I did manage to get two extra chapters written this week! (About the only things I've managed to write, too... grrr) Anyway, this is my main phic now, since I've finished LtS, so hopefully I'll be able to write some more and concentrate a little on an original story of mine...

But I'm blithering.

Thanks to -Green-Clown, flamethrowerqueen, The Phangirl, phantom-jedi1, ladyAlyafaelyn, LonesomeGurlAngelofDeath, Luckii.Jinx, IceCrystalline, and laal ratty for their reviews! As always, let me know what you think of this chapter, and thanks for reading!

And oh look! Plot!

* * *

Chapter 7: Déjà Vu 

_9__th__ May 1878; late_

_I stormed out of the bath, infuriated. No, more than that – my mood was as black and fiery as Hell, I snarled dramatically. Those _fools_! Those utterly idiotic, useless, worthless foul bits of stupidity passing themselves off as mercenaries! They had robbed me of my revenge…_

_He had called me a demented magician, an insane monster… the _bastard _had told me that I belonged in a cage! Mirza Taqui Khan had deserved to die! _

_A snarl of rage burst out of me audibly, and I slammed my fist into the first solid surface I could find. The pain was more than welcome. I had been denied the pleasure of destroying the man who had insulted me so greatly, who told me I belonged in a cage when he had never known the filth and degradation that came with a set of iron bars! How I despised the man, the grand vizier… and not just for what he had said._

_I had to admit it to myself. He was respected and loved; he had a family… things I could never even begin to dream of. And his insults burned so fiercely because there was more than a grain of truth to them… I had become no more than a monster._

_And more than anything, tonight proved it._

_Although still angry beyond belief, my shoulders suddenly relaxed, and I slumped forward a little as the tension was abruptly wrenched from my body. Wearily, I turned to walk through the gardens to the secluded spot I had left my horse. It was high time I left. _

_Surprisingly enough, I did not see her, nor did she see me, until we had collided. Afterwards, however, even the darkness could not conceal me, and for a long moment the princess, the vizier's wife, merely stared at me in horrified shock. _

_Then she began to scream. _

_I knew then that I would never forget her cries of outrageous grief, for the moment she saw me she knew that her husband was dead. _

Monster_…_

_There was nothing I could do, and so I turned and began to move away. But another someone I had not seen barreled straight into me. The small figure was pounding his fists hard into my chest – at this point, I hardly cared. The princess' grief-stricken sobbing stopped for a moment, however, and she called out to the child in a terrified voice._

_"Alasd!" she screamed, then broke down sobbing once again. She truly thought I would kill her child… _

Monster_…_

_"You killed my father!" the boy shrieked, his voice mixed with fury and sadness. _

_He continued to beat his fists against me and curse at me until I had finally had enough. I slipped away from him silently and slid into the night. _

_"Do not forget me, demon!" the child cried venomously. "You had better not forget me, for some dark night I'll be there! I'll be there, and I'll _kill you_! I _will _avenge my father! Do you hear me, you freak, you _monster_, do you?"_

_I was sure the child called Alasd, who could not have been more than twelve, continued to scream into the night long after I could no longer hear him…_

_I looked up at the vast black sky strewn with opalescent, glittering white stars. The wind rippled the grass slightly, and as I stood on the slight rise I felt as though the world was beneath my feet, and I was utterly detached, just one smudge of shadow alone in that night's soft brilliance. The notes of my rebellious melody seemed to play all around me, daring once again for me to reach out and grasp them… but I could not._

_I turned a little, following the evasive music, and I saw that I was not alone after all. Another black shape was coming towards me stealthily. Puzzled, I held my ground until it was too late…_

_The young Persian man stepped up to face me, a hardened grin on his face, and raised his rifle to my face. _

_"_Monster_," he spat at me, and with a roar everything blazed with pain and then went black…_

I awoke with a strangled cry to something wet on my face and a fierce, stabbing pain in my wounded arm. The damned knife-injury had not yet fully healed, and if I was not careful it tore open again. While caught in the throes of my nightmare, it seemed to have done just that.

The wetness on my face persisted, and suddenly I realized that it was Akilah, desperately licking my cheek. I must have been thrashing about rather violently, then. I slumped against the ground again and reached out to stroke her fur reassuringly, but too late I realized I had reached out with my left arm. My bad arm. Fire laced into my very core, and I hissed audibly with pain… and as my arm fell limply to the ground once more, I noticed that there were some blood spatters on Akilah's pristine white coat.

"I really must do something about this, mustn't I?" I asked her a little while later, when I was no longer too exhausted to move.

Akilah looked up from washing her tail and met my gaze in a shockingly steady stare that clearly said 'yes, I don't know why you haven't already.' I had always thought animals did not like making eye contact, but she fixed me with her mismatched eyes for almost a full minute before going back to her bath.

I smiled and reached into my pack for the wineskin I had been provided with in Rouen. I unwrapped my now almost completely ineffective bandage and carefully poured some of the wine onto the gash, gritting my teeth and the sharp sting. Using a small strip of a napkin that had been wrapped around some of the food I had taken from the inn in Rouen, I cleaned out the cut as best I could before rewrapping it tightly with the rest of the scrap of graying cloth and tying it more securely with the brown-and-red strip of fabric that had once passed for a cravat.

Akilah had now finished cleaning the blood from her coat and curled up against my chest, purring so loudly that I could feel the vibrations. I must have been covered in white cat hair at that point as well… what an odd pair we made.

I did not think long about the oddity of the situation – in fact, I did not think long on anything. My strange nightmare had also been strangely draining, and soon I was deeply asleep, undisturbed by the past until morning.

* * *

He wandered almost aimlessly after that, drifting steadily more and more westwards, no longer following the twists of the Seine. He did not know where he was going, nor did he much care. He would stumble across something sooner or later – he had to. For the time being, he was merely one more long shadow at sunset, a lone silhouette against the sky's ever-changing colors. Aside from his furry companion, he was completely alone, and he was in no hurry to change that. 

Without much thought on the matter, he avoided any larger cities or towns he came across. Although he barely allowed himself to admit it, his nightmare had unsettled him.

"It's simply ridiculous," he had said quietly to the tiny white kitten perched on his pack, "There isn't any way that he would be able to find me… distinctive though I may be, he cannot search the entire world for one man…"

Still, he kept away from settlements of any kind unless absolutely necessary, partly because of the nightmare, and partly because of the harsh treatment he had already received in Rouen and in the village where he'd found the cat. It was better, safer, to be on his own.

As he neared the sea, the Phantom of the Opera began to slip into anonymity…


	8. Home

A/N: Hello, all, and happy Friday!

Not so many reviews for the last chapter... (sniff) Thanks to phantom-jedi1, laal ratty, and ladyAlyafaelyn for remembering... (glares at everybody else).

So, with this chapter, I _need _your feedback. I don't want to give too much away about why just now, but I will say that you need to pay a huge amount of attention to the date. If this was an actual paper-book, the date would probably have a page to itself. And I shall pose my questions at the end. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 8: Home

_8__th__ March 1881_

The wagon lurched and lumbered along the sandy dirt track, a particularly large jounce sending a large cedar trunk tumbling towards the one open pathway in the wagon bed, where it landed with a thunk on its end.

A young woman quickly worked her way out from her place squashed behind a large green armchair to set the trunk flat again, opening it anxiously to make sure that nothing inside had been harmed. Impatiently tucking an auburn curl that had worked loose from the chignon at the back of her head behind her ear, she carefully looked over what was left of her mother's possessions before closing the lid and retreating behind the armchair once again.

"Did anything break, Christine?" the man driving the wagon called back.

"No, papa, but you might be a little more careful!" Christine replied as cheerily as she could.

In truth, looking through her mother's possessions had caused the now-familiar lump to rise in her throat, and tears were threatening.

_Stop it, stop that, Christine_… _if papa can move on, so can you. She's gone, you must accept that! _she mentally chastised herself. It had been almost a month now, and yet she still felt almost as if the fire had been yesterday, the disaster that had destroyed her home and her mother, Eliane Daaé…

Neither she nor her father had been home… but she remembered so clearly dropping the basket of food she had been sent out to get, remembered the bottle of milk shattering as it hit the ground and soaking her ankles as she picked up her skirts and ran up the hill towards the crumbling, black, smoking wreckage that had once been her home…

Her father had arrived shortly before she had, and was shoving his way through the still smoldering – in places, still burning – ruins, screaming her mother's name, searching on his hands and knees for anything that might have suggested her escape…

Their possessions that had been in one half of the house, mainly from the two small bedrooms and tiny sitting room, had been mostly salvageable, even though most had taken days to remove the smell of smoke… anything that had been in the other half, where the kitchen had once been, was completely destroyed.

Her mother had been trapped inside the inferno.

Christine choked, forced her thoughts away from the fire. Her mother's relatives had space to offer them in their home in Perros-Guirec, on the northwestern coast of France. They were nearly there, her father had said the night before. There they could both start over…

She fingered the ornate silver crucifix pendant she wore around her neck. Her mother had given it to her for her nineteenth birthday, just that past January… Without a word, she let it fall again, and it settled itself beneath the fabric of her dress. She could do this; she _had _to do this. She owed it to her mother; at the very least, she could try.

* * *

_9__th__ March 1881_

As she stepped down from the wagon bed, her father walked up to the door of a tall whitewashed house, its windows glinting in the afternoon sun. _So, this was to be home, then_… A faint smell of salt pervaded everything, Christine had noticed; it would take some getting used to.

While her father waited at the front door, she walked around to the front of the wagon, over to the big chestnut horse that had been their companion for the past two weeks. The large, friendly gelding whuffled happily in her palm, searching for treats, and Christine patted him fondly on the neck as she waited for something to happen…

All of a sudden, it did. The big wooden front door of the house banged open, nearly knocking her father over, and a stocky, broad-shouldered man came out. Before he spoke, Christine knew that his voice would be loud and booming.

"Well, you must be Frederek, then!" he said, thumping Christine's father hard on the back, his brown eyes twinkling as he did so. He then called over his shoulder, back into the house. "Welcome, welcome! Majorie! They're here, come on, then!"

Christine stood back a little nervously, observing the big man. She had never known anyone so… _boisterous _before. His sandy brown hair was going grey and balding at the top, but he was muscular for a man who had to be in his fifties; he seemed to be the sort of man who didn't know his own strength.

She looked over to her own father, small and slight, his dark blond hair only just starting to silver. But there was an immediate comparison between them; both had such friendly eyes and pleasing smiles that it was impossible not to like them.

Suddenly there were more people filtering out through the door; four more people, a young man perhaps in his twenties, two younger children, a boy and a girl, and a round, plump, matronly-looking woman.

"Ah, there you all are!" the man boomed cheerfully.

"Not so loud, Eliot, dear," the woman said quietly, smiling a small, friendly little smile.

"Well, this is my family; my wife, Majorie; my eldest son, Lucien; and the twins, Garran and Vivienne."

There was a round of 'nice to meet you's before Frederek Daaé realized that his daughter was still standing by the wagon a little apprehensively.

"Come on, dear, we don't bite," Majorie called in her quiet, almost sing-song voice, still smiling that little kind smile.

Christine came over to stand beside her father, gave a little bob of a curtsey, and said 'how do you do?' to no one in particular.

"Oh, Eliot, she looks _just _like my sister… doesn't she remind you of Eliane, dear? I was so sorry to hear of the fire, dearie, so sorry," she continued, patting Christine's hand sympathetically.

Christine managed to smile, but she'd had her fair share of sympathy already and hoped she wouldn't get too much more of it. She looked over at the other members of the family she was now to stay with, down at the cheerful faces of the twins, then up to the elder boy. Lucien, wasn't it? He gave her a sunny smile when he saw that she was looking at him, and she gave him a genuine smile in return, relieved that someone seemed safely friendly.

"Well, why are we just standing around out here by the front door? Let's get you two settled in a bit, at least move your things upstairs, and then we can all talk. I'm sure you both have interesting things to tell us about Sweden, eh?"

The space between the wagon and the front door became a sudden whirlwind of activity. Eliot would only allow Christine and Majorie to carry in the lightest of items, and the twins, who were old enough to help but young enough to still get in the way, kept popping up at the most inopportune moments, asking if they could bring in something else. Christine finally gave up insisting that she could carry something a little more substantial than a box of pictures and documents that they had been able to save and busied herself with unhitching the carthorse and bringing him around to a little shed in the back that the twins directed her to. There were only two stalls in it, one occupied by their own working horse, the other one obviously little used. While she cleaned it up a little, the twins chattered on to her.

"Has he got a name? He's named Mer," the boy, Garran, said.

"Who is?" Christine asked, looking up for a moment.

"He is," the girl said politely, pointing at the silvery-grey gelding looking curiously at them all. "He likes to play in the sea if we ever bring him down there, that's why."

"Oh, I see. Well, papa and I decided to name him Legato, because he goes along in a slow, smooth sort of way. He never was in any hurry."

The two children looked at her confusedly for a minute before she laughed and explained that it was a tempo marking in music.

After another moment, Christine stabled Legato and turned to Garran and Vivienne.

"Shall we go back to the others, then?" Vivienne said, smiling.

Christine nodded and the three of them filtered back to the front of the house. Most of the contents of the wagon had been moved indoors, and Christine was shunted inside with the twins, to be out of the way. Once inside, she fell silent again, slipping her necklace off and turning the pendant over in her small hands thoughtfully. After an awkward moment, Vivienne and Garran began chattering away to themselves, so her mental absence was not much amiss.

A few minutes later, Majorie came into the house, followed by the three men and the last of the Daaé's possessions.

"Follow me, then, Christine, dear, I'll show you up to your room. I'm so glad we had space to offer you two," she said, picking up a cardboard box that Christine had indicated as hers.

Christine picked up her little trunk a little awkwardly, hoisting it off the ground as far as she could by the handles on the front and back, but refusing Lucien's offer of help. She followed her aunt silently up the little stairs at the back of the house, the dark-stained wood creaking slightly under their feet as they moved up past the whitewashed walls.

"Your father's room is a little small, I'm afraid, but I'm so glad we had it to offer him, you know. I would have felt terrible if we hadn't been able to; your mother and your home gone at once, just how awful. I miss her dreadfully, I didn't see very much of Eliane once she had married your father. I imagine you must miss her terribly too, dear, and here I am prattling on about her… but I was just so surprised to see how much you've grown to look like her. You're nineteen, now, correct? Yes, I thought so. Ah! Here we are."

They had reached the second story after what had seemed an endless flight of stairs. There were three doors there, one of them open.

"That one is your father's room; you can look in if you like."

Christine looked in to see a little closet of a guest room, sparsely furnished with wooden bedstead and a dresser tucked under a small window. She knew that her father would enjoy such a space, however, and so she smiled.

"I… I really can't thank you enough for taking us in like this, Madame…"

"Nonsense, dearie; and please, call me Majorie. Now, your room is just up here…"

"Up? Up where?"

"Up in the attic, dear," Majorie said, putting down her box and pulling on a heavy piece of rope hanging from the ceiling at the far end of the hallway. A sort of stepladder folded down, revealing a largish rectangular space through the ceiling and up into the attic. "We'd run out of rooms, I'm afraid, and I didn't want to put you in with the twins or Lucien or your father. Vivienne has helped me clean it up a bit for you don't worry."

Christine followed her up the wooden steps and into the attic. It was a rather large space, as it ran the entire length and width of the house, but much of it was already cluttered up with boxes of the LaGrange family's own things. There were two windows, one at either end, but it was still rather dark and gloomy at that time of day.

"We can get you a lamp up here easily, dear, don't fret."

Christine wasn't fretting; she was still looking over the room. A very old-looking bedstead stood parallel to the window farthest from where she was standing; it seemed as though they had found it up there in the attic and put it back together for her. Aside from that and the boxes, however, there was nothing in the attic.

"Feel free to arrange things the way you'd like, dear… not that there's much to arrange, I'm afraid…"

"Thank you," Christine said softly.

She placed her trunk down at the edge of her bed, and Majorie placed the box she was still carrying next to it.

"If you need anything, dear, we'll all be downstairs," she said kindly as Christine sank onto her new bed.

Christine smiled, and then turned to look out the window. She heard her aunt quietly slip out of the room, and she looked around once more.

_Home_… she thought, just a little sadly. _Yes, this could be home_.

* * *

A/N: Ok, questions start: first, was I introducing the situation and that gaggle of characters too fast? Was the adjustment between narratives too abrupt? I wanted to leave it off in the last chapter, I had that nice line about "slipping into anonymity" so... Thirdly, how was Christine's characterization? I can see the way I want to do it quite clearly in my head, but I don't know if I've shown it the right way. Please let me know what you think! It was suggested that I could put another chapter in between this one and chapter seven, but I can't really see fitting one in...

Well, in any case, let me know what you think, and I'll see what I can do!

Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	9. Dust and Daylight

A/N: Happy Friday, all! And here is your Friday update! Sorry it's so late; I had a voice lesson and then a play rehearsal right after that, and then spent a long time consoling an old, seemingly frightened neighborhood cat.

There are only... 25 days left of school. After that I'll have lots of time to write... although I am about halfway through chapter 10, never fear!

So. Thanks very much to laal ratty, phantomlvr, queen-of-swing, and Mimi Watanabe for their reviews!!!

... What happened to my usual reviewers? Green-Clown? Fae? LJ? You guys there?

Anyway, all sniffling aside... here's chapter nine!

* * *

Chapter 9: Dust and Daylight 

_11__th__ March 1881_

Christine sat under the window, looking out at the grey sky. It looked and smelled a little like rain, she mused, which was nice; a little rain might wash out the salty smell for a bit.

She turned then and looked back at her attic room with a sigh. There was so much she still needed to do… Her father had settled into his tiny room quickly enough, but it would take Christine longer. She had pushed her mother's trunk under the window and placed an old, moth-eaten cushion on top, making a perfect little bench inside the alcove. She had also brought up an ancient oil lamp her father had brought with them, but that was still sitting on the floor…

It didn't matter. She didn't much feel like unpacking and sorting through the attic for anything useful. This place wasn't really _hers_, after all…

The sudden sound of feet on the stepladder leading into the attic startled her, and she jumped up just in time to see Lucien's sandy head pop up.

"Mother said you might need some help up here… oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"No, it's fine… I was just… daydreaming, and you caught me by surprise, that's all."

Lucien looked around the room, taking in the shadowy beams in the ceiling and the piles of boxes by the opening in the floor that served as an entryway.

"Bit dark and dusty up here, isn't it?"

Christine had to laugh at the look on his face. He seemed the type much more content outside in the sun.

"I could use a little help, now that you mention it," she said, still grinning.

As Christine and Lucien shoved boxes and her meager bits of furniture around the room, Christine told him tales of her childhood in Sweden; silly things like the time she had fallen out of a tree into the wash basket, which then toppled into a mud puddle. Lucien asked her questions like 'could all three of you speak Swedish _and _French?' in a way that made Christine laugh, a way that clearly stated that learning a second language seemed tedious and unnecessary to him. She had answered with a few long rambling sentences in her father's tongue that left him blinking bewilderedly at her and her laughing all the harder.

A little while later, Christine stood back to survey their accomplishments. They had pushed all the old boxes and trunks to one side of the room, and created – in her opinion – a cozy niche for her things on the other. The storage boxes formed a sort of wall along the 'doorway' in the floor, which provided at least some sense of privacy.

"Still rather dark…" Lucien commented, dusting his hands off on the fronts of his trousers.

Christine unhooked the latch on the window, and almost instantly the thick, heavy pane of glass and wood was torn from her hand and banged hard against the wall in a gust of wind so strong it almost knocked her over in its suddenness. It did knock the lamp down onto the floor with a clatter.

Once she'd managed to wrestle it shut again, Christine had to laugh.

"Your mother didn't tell me that this was a wind tunnel, Lucien! Ah well, it's taken care of the dust…"

Lucien blew a wad of dust off his nose before replying.

"Spread it around is more like it," he answered before sneezing hard.

* * *

In another few hours, the gusting wind had turned into an absolute downpour, and Christine was immensely glad that she had turned down Lucien's offer to show her around the village in favor of a day with fairer weather. Instead, she joined her father and the rest of the LaGrange family in the parlor downstairs. It was the biggest room in a house that Christine had quickly realized was really too small to house seven people, but she knew just how lucky she and her father had been. 

Suddenly the warm, peaceful laughter was broken when the twins discovered that her father was a violinist and urged him to play something for them.

"All right, I will," he said with a laugh, getting up, "if Christine will sing as well."

Christine could feel herself turn white as everyone turned to look at her. She hadn't sung at all since her mother's death! She couldn't now, she _couldn't_…

But her father had truly caught her. He was convinced that if he could get his daughter to sing again, she could forget some of the grief that had kept her nearly silent through their whole journey into France. He smiled warmly at her and vanished upstairs to retrieve his violin, leaving her to face the expectant and excited faces of the LaGranges…

She was as ready as she was going to get when he returned and had tuned his violin. He looked at her and nodded, a signal that he would follow whatever she wanted to sing. After that, he could probably play for them all on his own. No doubt no one would much like a voice as out-of-practice as hers was… Against all better judgment, she took a deep breath and began.

"_Take the wave now and know that you're free  
Turn your back on the land, face the sea  
Face the wind now, so wild and so strong  
When you think of me, wave to me and send me a song_…"

Frederek smiled as he played; the song had been one of Eliane's favorites. He watched Christine relax as she sang, still not able to look at any of them, but the tension melted away and her sweet, bell-like voice soared to fill the crowded room.

In truth, Christine's mind was suddenly elsewhere. She had drifted back years, to the day her mother had first taught her the song… it was almost as though she could hear her singing faintly across some distant ocean…

"_I walk by the shore and I hear  
Hear your song come so faint and so clear  
And I catch it, a breath on the wind  
And I smile and I sing you a song, I will send you a song_…"

The twins were the first to applaud when Christine had finished, but she did not pay them all that much attention. She simply got up and wrapped her father in a hug, burying her face in his protective shoulder.

"You know I hate it when you're right," she whispered, and he grinned.

* * *

A/N: The song is "Send Me a Song" from Celtic Woman's first CD. I was searching frantically for a song to use in this portion when I stumbled across this in my playlist, and it fit even better than I expected it to!

So, could you, please, please, pretty please with a cherry on top leave me some feedback? Constructive criticism is fine, but no flames please. I've been fortunate, I've only ever gotten one... anyway, please let me know what you think! Your input is always valuable.

Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	10. Out on the Heath

* * *

A/N: Sorry this has taken me so long to post... I've been on a band/choir trip to Hershey, PA, for the past three days. No computer. But, I'm back; I had a BLAST, and now am utterly sleep-deprived. Lol. 

Anyway, thanks so much to queen-of-swing, L, phantom-jedi1, laal ratty, Angelicerik12, miffster, Mengela Daae, Nyasia A. Maire, Ceinwyn, Mimi Watanabe, and Luckii.Jinx for their reviews! Yay, reviews!!! Keep it up, guys!

And now we get some 1st person Christine! Patience, Erik will reappear soon. --wink--

* * *

Chapter 10: Out on the Heath 

_14th March 1881 _

Lucien and the twins had promised to show me around town that afternoon, and Vivienne and Garran were more than eager to follow through. The two of them ran ahead of Lucien and I, every so often darting back to us along the path and telling us to hurry up; they had to show me this, that or the other thing. I smiled at their antics, and Lucien echoed it, but shook his head slightly, clearly not as tolerant of their enthusiasm as I was. When he next looked at me, his expression seemed to say 'just wait until you've spent more than a few days with those two.'

I pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders as a brisk early-spring wind barreled down the street we were walking on, whipping my skirts out behind me in a flutter of dusty rose cotton.

Out of curiosity, I started to watch Lucien as we walked down the deserted roadway into the main part of town. I knew very little about him, except that he seemed nice enough so far, but we had not spoken all that much about him. Our conversations thus far had been centered on his getting to know me. This brisk walk down the street didn't seem to be providing me with any more hints, however. His blond hair was ruffled by the wind, but he could carry an air of casual elegance with ease. He moved very fluidly and purposefully, keeping a close eye on the twins far ahead.

He also looked at _me_ with startling frequency, and I had to quickly pretend I hadn't been studying _him _before he caught my eye. He must have been doing the same thing I was…

Vivienne and Garran waited impatiently before urging us to hurry – we were almost in town!

Once we got into the center of Perros, the solitude of the little road we'd been following vanished, replaced by the bustle of a small village. People hurried back and forth on their daily errands, adding bright splashes of color to the grey of the gravel-and-sand pathways and steely blue-grey sky. A carthorse plodded by, pulling a cart of straw behind him. Garran looked as though he would have liked to go up and pet the big animal, but the cart's driver shot him a warning look.

"Wouldn't want to have to explain to your mother that you'd got crushed under my cart wheel, Garran!" he called down, then returned his attention to the roadway.

"Does everyone know you here?" I asked once he was gone.

"Everyone knows _everyone _in Perros," Vivienne explained matter-of-factly, as though I should have known this all along. "There aren't that many people to know."

I begged to differ. As I was shown around town, I was introduced to so many people in such a short space of time that I knew I'd never be able to remember them all. And every single one of them already seemed to know that I was here because my mother had died; they all offered me condolences that I had not really been prepared to be confronted by. I could only smile and nod at them all; they probably wondered if I could speak. By the time each one had moved on, I was more than relieved. What was I supposed to say to those people? I didn't know them, and yet somehow they all seemed to know me…

And I always got so accursedly tongue-tied…

While Lucien seemed to be intent on introducing me to everyone in the village, Vivienne and Garran were more eager to make sure I never had any excuse to get lost, showing me every little nook and cranny a small town had to offer, usually accompanying each with an anecdote.

"Oh, that's where that cartload of chickens overturned and they went squawking all over the street, remember, Viv?"

Or, perhaps "Christine, that little shop there has the _best _pastries in the whole world, doesn't it, Garran?"

The twins seemed to function as one being, perhaps a little more childish and excitable than their fourteen years would suggest, but something also told me that Lucien and their parents still treated them like children. At least they weren't resentful; they were the most cheerful people I'd spoken to in a long time.

The tour of the town lasted all afternoon, until Garran finally complained that the picnic basket he'd been lugging around was getting too heavy, and anyway, it was past time for lunch. I had been wondering how long he could run around with that thing; I had watched my aunt pack it with enough food for a small army. Lucien, after a brief argument in which Garran insisted that he could still carry it, took the basket and led us out of town and up onto the grassy expanse of gentle hills behind Perros.

It seemed that the moment we sat down to lunch, the chatter died down. None of them knew much about me, only that my mother had just died, and I knew very little of them and what they liked to do. And none of us seemed to feel quite brave enough to begin the questioning.

It was Lucien who finally took the plunge.

"So, Christine, how long have you been singing?"

"Almost as long as I can remember," I said, smiling. "With two musical parents, it was only natural that they began teaching me quickly."

"You're very good!" Vivienne piped up, grinning at me.

"Thank you," I said, my smile widening, looking down modestly.

Vivienne began toying with a lock of her wavy brown hair meditatively.

"I can't remember hearing anybody ever sing that well," she mused, and I began to search for something else to say.

"Garran, Lucien, wouldn't it be wonderful if Christine and _Oncle _Frederek performed for the village, maybe with some of the others here? Like the traveling performers do?" Her blue eyes lit up with excitement as she spoke, and Garran caught on immediately.

Personally, I was terrified of the thought!

"Viv, now I'm not sure…" Lucien began calmly, but Garran cut him off.

"Lucien, you're _always _spoiling our good ideas. What's wrong with it? I can't think of a better way for the people around here to get to know them, right? And you wouldn't mind, would you, Christine?"

I couldn't say anything for a long moment; I concentrated hard on not looking panicked.

"I… I can't… I… perform… in front of… No, I couldn't!"

"Oh, but why not? It can't be that hard… after all, you sang for us, didn't you?" Garran pointed out quickly.

"I didn't have very much choice then, did I?"

"Christine, you're just so shy! I don't understand why, there's no reason…"

"Viv!" Lucien said quickly.

My cheeks colored quickly. I was shy, even more so than usual since my mother's death. But no one likes to have their faults so accurately pronounced by anyone, much less a cousin of fourteen.

"I… I'll ask Papa, I'll… I'll think about it," I muttered.

But they heard me, and Vivienne clapped her hands together gleefully.

* * *

About an hour later, we began to make our way back home – I had to think of the LaGrange household as my home now as well, and it was a very odd thought. For some reason, I simply couldn't get my head around it. 

The wind had died down a little during our picnic, but it had picked up again and the sky was slowly turning a stormy grey. Instead of taking the long route through town and risk getting drenched, Lucien led us along the base of the hillocky landscape. I closely examined the greenish-grey heath, still looking almost dead from the winter, the horizon fringed with the spiky black branches of a copse of trees.

"Is there anything out there? Any houses, or another town?" I asked, still staring out past our little route back.

Vivienne and Garran both answered me at once: "No!" and "Yes!" at exactly the same time.

"Well, it can't be both," I pointed out with a laugh, finally looking back at them all.

For some reason, Lucien was frowning.

"There's nothing out there," he said stiffly, "just a legend, a ridiculous village myth…"

"No, it's _not_, Lucien, you know that!" Vivienne said, sounding frightened. Garran only laughed, but it was a nervous laugh.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing… nothing…" Vivienne began, but I cut her off quickly.

"Vivienne, you just said that whatever it was is real. Which is certainly not nothing."

"She… doesn't want you to get in trouble…" Garran explained quietly.

I was taken aback by this; Lucien only scowled. Apparently he agreed with his sister and didn't want me informed.

"Trouble? I'm not going to get in any trouble… I'm the least likely person to get myself in trouble," I explained calmly, determined to understand whatever it was the three of them were hiding from me. "Is there anything out there or not?"

Vivienne and Garran nodded furiously, huddling together suddenly in what looked like an entirely unconscious manner.

"What's the matter? It can't be terrible, whatever's out there…"

Lucien finally gave in and began to explain.

"There is something out there; not another town, not for _miles_, but there is one house, a good distance away from here but still far too close for comfort… I've seen the inhabitant once, by accident. Most of the villagers have never seen him, but they know he's there. Sometimes we'll hear a violin playing somewhere off in the distance… most say that heath is haunted. He certainly looks like a ghost, dressed all in black except for a white mask… one minute, he was there, the next he was gone in a swish of his black cloak. And this is no benevolent spirit, either. A small party of travelers was attacked about a year ago, and they swore it was him."

At this point, Lucien's warm brown eyes were steely, angry. True enough, I hadn't known him very long, but I had never seen him this way before.

"No one ever ventures out onto that scrap of land. There are other, safer roads to walk hereabouts. And Christine, you mustn't go anywhere near that place, do you understand me?"

I couldn't help it; I laughed. It probably was not the wisest of reactions, since my cousins – Lucien especially – were all so serious about this, but I couldn't help myself.

"I hardly believe in ghost stories anymore, Lucien," I said, tilting my head a little downwards and smiling up at him.

"This isn't a ghost story, Christine, this is real! Lucien's seen him!" Vivienne said in a soft, urgent sort of tone.

"But how could you possibly know for sure…"

"Christine, just promise me you won't go out there!" Lucien snapped.

Startled, I could only blink at him for a moment. All four of us could feel the tension acutely, a discord brought on by just this silly talk of a local ghost… with an inward sigh, I realized that many small villages must have their own spirits floating around, so why not Perros? And it only took one look at Vivienne and Garran's apprehensive faces and Lucien's harsh stare for me to realize that to agree to anything they said on the matter would be easier than fighting them. After all, I was new here, what did I know…?

"I… I won't," I finally answered.

We walked the rest of the way home in silence, the turbulent wind whipping around us.

* * *

A/N: Mmmm, the attack of too many people at once! Poor Christine. 

Right. Back to work on chapter 11 - I haven't been able to write for three days either. (sulk) But the trip was amazingly fun!

So, please let me know what you think, and thanks for reading!

--Kyrie


	11. In Tandem

A?N: Happy Friday, everyone!! (does the four-day-weekend and only 16 school days left dance)

A quick note: it is May. And, although there are only 16 days of school left, those are all filled with project deadlines and finals. (ugh) I'm going to try and get a lot written over this lovely long weekend, but I just wanted to warn you that I might be a _tad _busy for a while.

Thanks to phantom-jedi1, Nyasia A. Maire, laal ratty, phantomlvr, HughloverX, and akutenshi666 for reviewing the last chappie! Yay! I hope everybody enjoys this chapter as well.

* * *

Chapter 11: In Tandem 

_1__st__ April 1881_

I wandered down to breakfast late that Saturday, still pinning up my hair. One stray curl continued to evade any of my efforts to put it in place, and I was still tackling it when I walked into the kitchen.

"Good morning, Christine, dear," Majorie said, greeting me in her customarily cheery voice.

"_Bonjour, Tante_," I replied, smiling.

One couldn't help but smile at her, something I was discovering more and more as I slowly became accustomed to my new home. Over the past two weeks, I had been able to loosen up – at least a little – around this new family, and I discovered that I had more than just my father to turn to. Lucien was quickly proving to be a good friend, and Majorie was boundlessly kind.

"Dear, have you seen your uncle anywhere? I was planning to go into the market today – it is Saturday – but I can't seem to find him or either of the boys anywhere, and I always need an extra pair of hands…"

"I could come with you," I offered quickly.

"Thank you, dear, but I wouldn't want you to have to carry anything heavy…"

"I don't mind, _Tante_, I really don't," I told her, grinning.

"Don't mind what?"

I turned around to see my father coming in the kitchen door. It seemed that he had slept late as well; the top button on his shirt was still undone and his sandy blond hair was tousled. He grinned at me as he walked in and came up behind me, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"Christine was just offering to come with me to town, but I didn't want to overload her with groceries," Majorie explained.

"Well, I'll come and help the both of you, how would that be? Christine and I still haven't seen much of the town, and as your children seem to be elsewhere…"

"That's sweet of you, Frederek. I don't see why the two of you couldn't come along; I could certainly use the help."

My father smiled at the both of us. He was another person I couldn't help but smile at.

A few minutes later, we were walking into the bustling center of Perros, Majorie a little bit in front of Papa and me. He stayed close beside me, keeping my arm linked through his, as though he was afraid I would get lost in the crowd.

Majorie soon began introducing the two of us to her acquaintances, some of whom recognized me from my outing with the twins and Lucien. This time, however, we stayed to talk longer to each person than we had before, which would make it easier for me to remember them later on. Many of them asked my father what he did for a living, and when they heard that he was a violinist, they all grew nearly as excited to see him perform as Vivienne had.

"Well, perhaps we'll just have to give these good people a little performance one of these days, what do you think, Christine?" Father said, turning to me.

"Oh! Do you play as well, Christine?" one of the ladies – I believe her name was Madame Fol – said, smiling at me.

"No," I replied politely, trying to smile shyly. It wasn't too difficult. "I can sing, though."

"Christine was one of my first students – and the best pupil I've ever had, I must say." His blue eyes twinkled at me as he spoke, his hand resting proudly on my shoulder.

"Do you teach as well, Monsieur Daaé?"

"I do – mostly voice and violin, although I've learned enough piano to teach the basics."

The chatter drifted away from music for a while, until two others noticed our little grouping at the side of the square and joined us, and the introductions began anew.

We headed for home about an hour later, my father and I lagging behind once again, but this time because I wanted to speak with him. Carefully, I adjusted the sack of bread and baguettes so that it rested most of the weight on my hip and turned to look at him.

"Papa, would we really just… stage a concert in the middle of town?"

"Why not? Before I began teaching, I wandered from town to town, playing in markets and on streets to earn money."

"Yes, you've said…" I looked away. It was all right for him to perform… somehow, it was different for me.

"Music cannot be a private thing, Christine. You have to learn to share it with others."

"I would sing with you and _Maman_ all the time…" I objected, but I knew that wasn't what he meant.

"You'll do wonderfully, Christine. Once you're given the chance to perform, I have no doubt that you'll see exactly the kind of euphoria an audience can provide."

I nodded, but didn't say any more. I believed him, of course – he was my father, I had to believe him – but still, I wasn't sure if I wanted to find out if what he said was true.

* * *

So strange, that I left Paris to escape the self-inflicted stigma of a Ghost. Had I known that the title would haunt me for the rest of my days, I would never have begun the whole damned charade in the first place.

Even so, I had come to enjoy life there in Perros-Guirec more than I ever had in Paris. Here it was easier to slip about unnoticed; here I had what seemed acres of beautiful land to myself. Of course I was occasionally seen, but the villagers left me entirely to their own devices, perhaps because of that group of travelers that had tried to hurt Akilah…

She was curled up on top of the piano, watching me play, her mismatched eyes half-closed and pensive. When I had started to build this new home, all the way up to its completion two years previously, she had been amazingly curious about it; it did occur to me that she had never had a real home to live in. Perhaps that was why she stayed with me so loyally – what were we but two creatures that had never seen any love?

I had hidden my home, which was smaller than the maze of rooms I had built beneath the Opera – behind a dense copse of trees, about half a mile from the town itself. I was perfectly secluded, and happy that way. After I had received the last of my belongings by train from Paris, I did not force myself into any dealings with people except for food. I never went into Perros for that; there were other villages not too far off, and I was careful never to visit the same ones frequently. That way, I became only a fleeting curiosity. I did occasionally venture into Perros, but each time I was careful to remain entirely hidden.

I had, quite essentially, stepped out of the 'real' world and into my own, something I had thought I'd accomplished in Paris. But even then I had far too much contact with the people of the Opera. It was better this way, better to be totally isolated.

Absently, my fingers swept across the ivory piano keys in random patterns. Nothing worth writing down… for _months_, nothing significant… Suddenly angry, I slapped at the keys, creating a cacophony of dissonant noise. Akilah's ears perked up, and she gave me a disdainful look, one that said 'must you do that, Erik, you've gone and woken me up.'

My expression softened as I looked at my annoyed cat, and I gently scratched her head. Coming as close as I had ever seen a cat come to smiling, she pressed the top of her head up into my hand, flattening her velveteen ears under my fingers, and she closed her eyes again and purred.

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you, _ma cherie_. It appears that my muse has deserted me entirely…"

I tried to keep my voice light, but one could not lie to one's cat. My face fell again – what was I to do without Music? Had I not been petting Akilah, I would have slammed my fist against the top of the piano. Could I truly have been deserted once again… deserted by the one thing I had thought could never leave me?

_Why, God, why…?_

* * *

A/N: Yep, he's back! I hope that explanation of his appearance in Perros was good, but I was planning on adding more later on, at the next opportune moment. So...

Please let me know what you think! Questions, comments, concerns; anything along those lines is always welcome!

Thanks for reading --Kyrie


	12. Revelations

A/N: Sorry this is late! I wasn't home all day yesterday - my school went on a trip for a theater competition. We did really well (although I wasn't actually acting in one of the shows...)!

Thanks to Peanuckle, laal ratty, phantom-jedi1, phantomlvr, HughloverX, and akutenshi666 for their reviews!

More Erik in this one... and actual plot too! Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 12: Revelation

_9__th__ April 1881_

It was Saturday again, and once again Christine and her father accompanied Majorie into town. This time, however, Frederek brought his violin along, and the other four members of the LaGrange family had tagged along as well.

Christine walked between Frederek and Lucien, hoping that she would be allowed to simply sit beside her father and listen to him, without performing herself. However, an odd sort of curiosity had been building up within her for the past week, a curiosity that was beginning to overstep her limitations and trepidations. What if her father was right, what if there was some sort of thrill in performing? What if he was right, and she was always too shy, too scared, to ever find out? Would she spend her whole life on the sidelines, never trying anything, never being daring or brave?

But, mouse that she was, she kept these new thoughts entirely to herself.

They reached the square in what seemed a very short amount of time, and Frederek stopped a little to the side of the road in order to be out of the way, and opened the worn leather case he carried with him. The case may have been old and ragged-looking, but the violin inside was in perfect condition, the golden-orange glow of the wood just as bright as if it had been new.

"Are you just… going to start?" Christine asked, watching as her father carefully tuned the instrument.

"Yes. If anyone wants to listen, they'll come over. At this sort of setting, one usually doesn't announce a recital."

Christine nodded. She had asked her father to tell her more about his itinerant musician days, and was beginning to understand it more.

Vivienne and Garran plopped down to the side of their uncle and cousin, eagerly looking up and waiting for the music to begin, hoping that they'd hear more than the little sample they'd gotten in their sitting room when the Daaés had first arrived. Soon, Lucien and Christine joined them, and Frederek began to play.

The music was fast, cheery, and Christine immediately recognized it as one of her favorite Swedish folk songs. She smiled brightly, sitting up straighter as she listened to her father play. After a minute, Vivienne and Garran got up and danced together in wild circles, leaving Christine and Lucien laughing together on the ground and Christine's father grinning all the wider as he played. His left hand was working dexterously over the fingerboard and his right arm was gracefully sliding the bow back and forth across the strings; it was nearly hypnotizing to watch him.

As his first song ended and he began another, a small crowd began to gather around their little party. The next song was also upbeat, a lively dance tune, and had many clapping along as the song progressed and cheering once it had finished. Frederek bowed, grinning, to the growing crowd, and changed tact as he began again – the next song had several of those listening reach for their handkerchiefs.

Christine closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift in the memories and the music as her father played the pretty yet melancholy tune, one of her mother's favorites. Smiling, she realized that both she and her father were the happiest they'd been in a long time.

* * *

Passing closer by Perros than he usually did, Erik heard the soft strains of a violin carried out across the town by the wind. He hadn't known there was a violinist in town… come to think of it, he had never heard one there before.

_See what you miss by shutting yourself away_, a small part of him chided, but he pushed the thought to the back of his mind.

Cautiously, he worked his way into the center of town, noting how talented the violinist was as he drew nearer the music. How could he have not realized that there was a skilled musician so nearby?

Akilah trotted alongside him, looking curiously up at her companion from time to time as if to ask why he was so surprised. After all, he _never _ventured into the town during the day, when there was anybody about. How would he know who was there and who wasn't?

He cursed quietly when he reached the edge of the town square and saw that there were seemingly innumerable villagers crowded around this mysterious violinist. Without a second thought, he scooped up the little white cat and settled her securely onto his shoulder before deftly climbing up onto the top of the nearest shop and hiding behind the peak of the slate roof, watching as the performance continued.

* * *

"Christine?" Frederek asked a short while later.

Christine looked up at her father, startled out of her reverie.

"It sounds wonderful, Papa," she said quietly, smiling.

"Thank you, _älska_," he said, returning the gesture. "Would you perhaps care to join me for the next one?"

Christine froze for a moment, scared. But she saw the expectant faces of her cousins, the curiosity of the crowd around them as they waited for the music to start again, and slowly nodded.

"A-all right…"

"Wonderful!" Frederek's grin widened even more as he helped her to her feet. "Ladies and gentlemen, my daughter Christine will be joining me for this next piece."

Some polite, inquisitive applause broke out as Christine self-consciously brushed her skirts straight again and turned to her father, whispering to him the song she was about to sing.

"Pretend they're not there, if you're nervous. Close your eyes if you must; once you begin, you'll be fine."

Christine nodded, suddenly wishing she hadn't agreed to sing. But she was about to have that blasted curiosity of hers satisfied… Shutting her eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, she began…

"_I hear your voice on the wind__And I hear you call out my name_…

_Listen my child, you say to me  
I am the voice of your history  
Be not afraid, come follow me  
Answer my call and I'll set you free_…!"

Up on the roof, Erik's eyes widened and he felt his jaw drop. He had to grip the shingles on the roof's peak tightly to remind himself that he could easily fall. Never, _never_, had he heard so much potential in one voice, never in all his life! He straightened up, realizing that he would be fully visible to anyone who happened to look up, and not caring. He was completely mesmerized by a tone so pure, so perfect, he could hardly believe his ears.

"_I am the voice in the wind and the pouring rain  
I am the voice of your hunger and pain  
I am the voice that always is calling you  
I am the voice; I will remain_

_I am the voice in the fields when the summer's gone  
The dance of the leaves when the autumn winds blow  
Now do I sleep throughout all the cold winter long  
I am the voice that in springtime will grow_…"

As Christine continued her song, her voice grew more and more confident, and she was even able to open her eyes. When she did, she was immensely surprised to see the awe on the faces in the crowd. Was she really doing that? Could she really affect anyone like that? She turned to her father, a little scared for some reason, but he only nodded and smiled and kept playing, silently telling her to do the same. Once she looked back, she settled into a subtle crescendo and started to smile. There _was_ something to what her father had said…

"_I am the voice of the past that will always be  
Filled with my sorrow and blood in my fields  
I am the voice of the future  
Bring me your peace  
Bring me your peace and my wounds, they will heal_…"

Erik had to shut his eyes tightly as she finished her song, hoping against hope that she would sing again. _If only I could see her, speak with her_… _God, she has the voice of an angel. So much potential_… And yet he had sensed that there was something holding her back, even when she relaxed for the end of the song. He could feel that somehow there was an endless reserve of power that she was not taking advantage of…

Akilah pattered around to look at him, giving a small _mrrow_ of concern, and he tucked her under one arm, trying to focus on her instead of the fact that the girl, Christine, although beaming from the applause she had received, had sat down once again, had stopped singing… leaving him colder than he had ever felt in his life.

* * *

A/N: Told ya there was plot.

The song I used was "The Voice," sung by Lisa Kelly of Celtic Woman. My reaction when I first heard it was pretty similar to Erik's - it is absolutely _beautiful _and it fits so amazingly well...

Please let me know what you think! Questions, comments, and critiques welcome! Thanks for reading --Kyrie


	13. The Voice

A/N: Happy Friday! Not so happy - exams. Ugh. This will be the weekend from hell, since not only do I have finals, I've got rehearsal and picture day for dance, and a voice recital, and the _Tonys _(the only awards show I really want to watch)! I've got to keep this short and go hit the books...

Thanks very much to HughloverX, Mage Firestorm (one of my betas, go check her out!), Mystery Guest, laal ratty, megumisakura, akutenshi666, Nyasia A. Maire, and Peanuckle for their lovely reviews!

Enjoy! (P.S.: I loved this chapter... --evil laugh--)

* * *

Chapter 13: The Voice

_9__th__ April 1881_

She was cajoled into singing once more, after which Erik forced himself to climb down from the roof and retreat back to his home before he could do anything stupid… such as try to get any closer.

Cajoled… she practically had had to be _begged _by her father and two children to sing again… such a talent, and she was damnably afraid to use it! _Why?_

As he practically stumbled back home, he realized he _needed_ to find out. Once he was finally there, he realized that he was acting like a complete and utter fool.

"What am I doing, Akilah?" he muttered, leaning heavily against the door frame, resisting the temptation to bang his head against the solid wood.

The little cat butted her head reassuringly against his leg, purring loudly. But despite what she was trying to tell him, Erik was irrevocably lost in that voice… and he knew that he had to find her, somehow, and find out what it was that was holding her back…

* * *

_12__th__ April 1881_

Christine found herself following Vivienne through town again, humming softly to herself. She was almost afraid to admit it, but she had had _fun _performing with her father that Saturday.

"Coming, Christine?" Vivienne called, stopping to wait for her cousin.

"Yes, I'm coming!"

It hadn't taken long for Christine to realize that this was the first time she'd been in the company of solely Vivienne; she always seemed to have her twin around, and Lucien often joined them as well. But Viv seemed taller now that it was just the two of them, and she hadn't darted off ahead the way she always did when Garran was with her.

_I wonder why_…

Trying to be a little bolder, Christine struck up a conversation with her younger cousin and found that she really was much more mature when she was not in the company of her brothers. Soon enough, the two of them were laughing like old friends and both had forgotten exactly why they'd gone into town anyway. But it was somehow getting late, and they began to head back home.

As they left the center of town, the streets became more and more deserted, and suddenly Christine had the sneaking suspicion that someone was watching them. She thought she saw a shadow dart between two of the buildings on the side of the road, and she turned quickly, scanning their surroundings.

"Christine? What is it?" Vivienne asked, coming over to stand beside her cousin and try to find whatever she was looking at.

But there was nothing there any longer.

"Nothing, Viv… I just thought I saw someone there… Come on, let's go home."

* * *

_13__th__ April 1881; early morning_

The soft yellow light from the lantern swung slightly back and forth across the dark streets. Erik hid as much of it as he could with his cloak; normally, he would not even have carried it with him, but he had never been into that part of town at night and would rather look like one of the villagers out late than crash into something.

And with every step he took, he tried and failed to persuade himself that he was being a complete and utter fool, and that he ought to turn around that instant. What was he doing, what was he thinking…? But for some strange reason, he couldn't stop himself.

At last he reached the house he had followed her to that morning. A window on the second floor was wide open – excellent. After a quick look around, he raised the lantern to look at the stonework below the window. His fingers automatically found purchase and he climbed easily up to the window ledge, awkwardly holding the handle of the lantern in his teeth and making sure he hid the light with his body.

Once he had reached his destination, he looked into the room, but could see nothing, only vague shadows and shapes in the darkness. Tentatively, he pulled his cloak away from the lantern, hoping that no one would see it… and cursed under his breath. It only illuminated the floor!

_A sign to go back and stop this madness_, part of him screamed, but he ignored it. Still, ready to bolt out the window again the moment he had to, he raised the lantern up to the level of his shoulders, sending a beam of yellow light across the room, now distinguishable as a makeshift bedroom of sorts.

_Her _bedroom.

There she was, sound asleep, lying on her side with her face turned towards him. Her brown curls were loose and tousled, and she wore a soft smile even in her sleep.

"Christine…" he whispered. He hadn't noticed how pretty she was from his position on the roof…

For what had to be the hundredth time that day, he remembered her song, her wonderful soaring voice. She had boundless potential… if only there was some way he could take her and teach her to overstep whatever it was that bound her…

_Listen my child, you say to me_

_I am the voice of your history_

_Be not afraid, come follow me_

_Answer my call and I'll set you free!_

He could show her her wings and teach her to fly, if only he knew how… how could a monster such as himself dare approach an angel?

Angel.

Suddenly he remembered what a little girl had said to him when she had heard only his music and not seen his face. He remembered the words of her song – _I am the voice that always is calling you_…

She never needed to see him.

He straightened up from his crouched position on the windowsill, having given up wondering what had possessed him to do something so idiotic, and began to sing very quietly, so softly that she would surely think it a dream…

He did not see her begin to stir.

Christine squeezed her eyes shut a little tighter. What was her father doing in her room at that hour of the night? The light he carried with him swung back and forth across the room until it settled on her face.

She was about to roll over to avoid the light when she heard a voice like music whisper her name…

It was not her father in her bedroom at all. It was someone else – some man whose voice she did not recognize.

How did he know her name?

Heart suddenly racing, she pretended to be asleep, half terrified and… half awed. He had spoken only her name, but his voice was so beautiful, so ethereal… so _captivating_… it could not be a human voice, could it? Was there any way that the angels her father had told her of once, long ago, were real?

He began to sing then. Oh, God, it was so wonderful…! Christine let the sound wash over her for a long moment before she remembered that it didn't matter what his voice sounded like; her father's stories were just that, _stories_, and he was not an angel but was a strange man and had somehow appeared in her bedroom. Since it seemed that simply pretending to be asleep would not send him back to wherever he'd come from, she slowly opened her eyes.

If he had not been holding the lantern, she would never have seen him. His black cloak was pulled tightly around him, shrouding him in shadow, but beneath the brim of his black hat, the lantern light clearly illuminated a white mask covering the right half of his face.

Startled by his actual presence in her room – for a moment she had thought she might be dreaming – she sat up quickly, and he immediately jerked back; the singing stopped.

For what seemed a very long time, the two of them simply stared at each other, each too shocked to move. But Erik finally came to his senses, and in a flash he was gone, leaving the room dark once more.

* * *

A/N: MUAHAHA!!!!

So, please let me know what you think!! Reviews are _always_ appreciated... 'specially when I have to focus on studying so much. --sulk--

Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	14. Ripples in the Pond

A/N: EXAMS ARE OVER!!!! And so, because I'm in such a good mood, you get an early update this week. Yay!

(Edited to add: wow... I ran out of extra chapters faster than I thought... I need to get writing again... Patience, guys, more on Friday!)

Thanks very much to HughloverX, phantomlvr, queen-of-swing, Elphie89, Nyasia A. Maire, and akutenshi666 for their lovely reviews!

And here's that Akilah reaction you guys were looking forward to...

* * *

Chapter 14: Ripples in the Pond 

_13__th__ April, 1881; early morning_

For a moment, she simply sat there, dumbfounded, staring at the place he had been a second before. Then, in a sudden flurry of movement, she threw the covers aside and swung out of bed, running over to the window. She even got up and stood on the ledge, as he must have done to get in, but when she craned her neck out – in a dangerously foolish manner, she had to admit – and scanned the street below, there was no one and nothing to be seen.

With a sigh, she sank down so that she was sitting with her back pressed firmly against the window frame, one leg dangling below her.

_I am truly losing my mind_, she thought, shutting her eyes tightly and letting her head fall heavily back onto the sturdy wooden frame. _If the first thing I think of when there's somehow a strange man in my room is the angels Papa told me about, then it won't be long before I start believing Lucien's ghost stories_…

She laughed a little as she remembered her cousins' hysteria over such an absurd local legend… but her laughter was short-lived. Suddenly, she remembered exactly what Lucien had said about the ghost himself.

_"He certainly looks like a ghost, dressed all in black except for a white mask… one minute, he was there, the next he was gone in a swish of his black cloak. And this is no benevolent spirit, either…"_

"That's not possible," she muttered to herself, "it was just a story he told me, to keep me from wandering off and getting lost… there are no such things as ghosts."

No… no such things as ghosts. But the man who had been in her room was no ghost… perhaps he _seemed _unreal, spectral, even… but he was real enough.

How had he known who she was? How had he found her?

_Why _had he been there? And _who _was he? What did he… what _could _he possibly want with her?

God, there were too many questions… questions she had no means of answering.

She got to her feet again, but did not go back to bed – she was far too awake to go back to sleep that night. Aimlessly, she paced back and forth across the cold, dusty wooden floorboards of her attic room, stopping only to pull her shawl off the foot of her bed and wrap it tightly round her shoulders.

But none of the questions she had darting around her mind found answers. She tried desperately to answer even one, but as she did, another question presented itself, even more unanswerable than the first.

Still pacing, she turned back to face the window and realized frustratedly that she had left it wide open. It was doubtful that he would return, but even so, it was stupid of her to leave it open…

Crossing to the window, she reached out to pull it shut again, but jumped back again when she saw a shadow dart across the road. But, looking again, she saw that it was only a stray dog, and she quickly shut and bolted the window.

"It was only a dog, Christine… God, but I _am _losing my mind," she whispered to herself. "Seeing ghosts and angels…"

No. A man. Just a man… he had seemed just as startled to see her wake as she had been to find him there.

_Well, what did he expect? For me to find a stranger in my bedroom in the middle of the night and ask him if he wanted to stay for tea?_ Christine thought, thoroughly agitated, and not just a little afraid.

She sat back down on her bed, ironing her face with her hands. There was only one thing for it… she knew exactly what she was going to be doing tomorrow.

* * *

By the time Erik reached his home once again, he had exhausted every curse in his multilingual vocabulary. _What in the world possessed me to do that? _

If anything, he had always considered himself sensible, at the very least. He had never been so irrational in his life.

_At least she didn't scream_…

No… no, she hadn't. She had been afraid, perhaps… but she looked more startled than anything else.

He growled under his breath, furious with himself for even thinking along those lines. He had made a mistake that night, one that would never be repeated, and in all likelihood he would never see her again. Once thing was certain, he would _not _seek her out again. She had not screamed, yes, but that meant nothing. It was possible that she hadn't even seen the mask; she certainly hadn't seen his face.

Those who didn't scream then usually had a far more painful way of showing their disgust…

Finally, he reached his house, in an entirely black mood. He flung the door open and then roughly slammed it shut again with such force that the resulting bang knocked a small clock off a shelf in the entryway. Akilah nimbly darted out of the way, then sat primly in the middle of the hallway, her tail curled daintily around her feet, and looking up at Erik with a highly disdainful expression in her mismatched eyes.

"Yes, I _know_ it wouldn't have worked! I _know _it was an idiotic idea!" Erik snapped, prevented from storming about any more by the presence of the small cat in the exact middle of his path.

Barely changing her accusatory stare, Akilah flicked her ears back against her head and crouched down into a small ball on the Persian rug.

Erik rolled his eyes and gave in, bending down to pick up the cat.

"There are times when I wonder whether you'll _keep _me sane or _drive _me _in_sane," he muttered, absently scratching her ears.

Akilah purred contentedly.

"Yes, and you are infinitely pleased about that, aren't you?" he said, walking towards the music room.

He put his hat down on top of the piano, and Akilah immediately leapt off of his shoulder and onto the polished wood before curling up inside his hat. Erik was far too tired to bother reprimanding her. Instead, he merely sat down at the piano and began to play, without really thinking about it.

After what seemed a long time, he stopped playing and straightened up, realizing that he had not simply been repeating an old tune. Frantically, he grabbed a stack of manuscript paper and a pencil and began jotting down notes almost haphazardly. It was his elusive melody… he'd captured it at last!

But when he began to play what he'd written, he realized that some parts weren't quite right, and he could not figure out why.

Still, it was a start… he hadn't composed a thing in so long…

"_Bring me your peace and my wounds, they will heal_…"

No, it had nothing to do with the girl, with Christine… nothing _at all_. He never made the same mistake twice… and this would be no different.

* * *

A/N: So, what did you think? The wheels have certainly been set in motion... yayness. 

Reviews? Please? PLEASE? Feedback always appreciated!

Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	15. A Dangerous Curiosity

A/N: All right, so I still have an hour until it's Friday, but school just got out on Tuesday, and I am still trying to deal with time management on days when there really is nothing that _needs _to be done. So, this will ensure that I won't forget to update tomorrow.

Thanks very much to HughloverX, queen-of-swing, Nyasia A. Maire, phantomlvr, Thornwitch (sorry about the pov switching...), megumisakura, laal ratty, and akutenshi666 for their lovely reviews! Hope you guys like this one!

Oh, and anyone who's a fan of Boublil and Schonberg (Les Miz, Miss Saigon, Martin Guerre) trot over to YouTube and check out some of the Pirate Queen videos... the song "Here on this Night" will most definitely be inspiring me later on.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 15: A Dangerous Curiosity 

_13__th__ April, 1881_

The next day dawned grey and cloudy, and most of the LaGrange household simply rolled over for another twenty minutes of sleep, not wanting to get up and face the dreary weather. Christine, however, had already dressed and slipped downstairs.

She wasn't entirely alone, however.

"G'morning, Christine," Garran said when she walked into the kitchen, startling her. "Sorry," he added quickly.

"No, that's quite all right… I'd just thought that everyone was still asleep."

"Everyone else is… I was hungry, though," he explained, holding up the roll he'd saturated with peach preserves. "Want some?"

"No, thank you," she said quickly, not hungry in the least. "I was actually going to go for a walk… no, I won't get lost, you don't have to get up. Just tell the others where I've gone, please?"

Garran nodded and went back to his breakfast, and Christine slipped out the door and into the misty morning.

It was not too difficult for her to find her way back to the spot where she, Lucien, and the twins had had lunch that one afternoon, but once there, she hesitated. She was deliberately going back on her promise to her cousin…

But still, she had to try and find out who had been in her room that night, and she was sensible enough not to lose her way… she hoped. Resolutely, she picked up her skirts and began to march up the little hill and onto the vast expanse of land behind the town.

Once she had been walking for a few minutes, however, she realized that in spite of her near-sleepless night, she hadn't come prepared with any sort of plan. Aimlessly wandering across the heath wouldn't do her any good, and she nearly laughed at the thought of looking for the house of his that Lucien had spoken of. And what happened if she did come across him? What then? Could she really just demand to know why he had been in her room?

She sighed, realizing that any attempt she could possibly make to get to the bottom of what had happened would turn up empty. Perhaps if she headed back home now, she would return before anyone else woke and realized she was gone…

"Good morning, mademoiselle," a voice said suddenly from behind her, a voice that could not have belonged to simply anyone…

Christine whirled around, her heart in her throat at the sudden sound. She had thought she was alone… clearly not.

"Good morning," she finally said shakily.

The man in front of her smirked slightly, as though he found something in the situation highly amusing and she was somehow missing out on the joke.

"I… I fail to see what's so funny," she said, raising her chin in almost haughtily, attempting to both look and sound confident.

"Merely the low odds of simply running into each other like this," he replied, his rich voice just as captivating as it had been the night before.

"It was just as improbable for me to wake up to find a man I did not know in my bedroom," Christine countered quickly.

"True enough," he said, without offering any explanation.

Christine opened her mouth to say something else, but whatever she had been about to say left her head instantly when he turned to look at her completely. His steely blue-grey eyes were somehow just as entrancing as his voice, and his gaze caught hers and held it for a long, awkwardly silent moment. Finally, Christine turned away and looked at the ground for a moment, trying to shake from her mind the impression that the infinite depths his eyes seemed to hold had seen things that she could not even begin to imagine…

"Who are you?" she finally blurted out. "Why in the world were you at my window last night?"

"My name is Erik," he said, giving her a little bow almost automatically. How long had it been since he'd told someone his name…?

Christine waited for him to continue, but he did not.

"A pleasure to meet you, Erik, but I don't understand why…"

"I heard you sing a few days ago," he interrupted; Christine's cheeks instantly turned slightly pink.

"Might I ask what a young woman such as yourself is doing out and about on this dreary morning… alone?"

"You didn't answer my…"

"Yes, but you've asked quite a few questions of me already, and I believe it is my turn."

Christine paused, floundering for some sort of answer, a story, any story… anything but her real purpose there.

"Surely not aimlessly wandering? Perros may be a safe little village, but beyond a town's borders…" he prodded, something in his eyes telling her that he was both enjoying teasing her and wishing he could hit himself for engaging in such a conversation.

"Truth… truth be told… I was… I was looking for you," she finally said, giving in to the strong feeling that whatever story she made up would be quickly shown as a lie in his mind. "I wanted to try and find out what had really happened last night… and why."

Erik's eyebrows rose, as, admittedly, his purpose for wandering that morning was to talk himself out of seeking _her_.

"I see."

Another long, awkward pause fell between them, this time with Erik studying her closely as she blushed and looked away. He watched silently as she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, then slowly turned back to look up at him again, her warm brown eyes so full of curiosity.

"You still haven't answered my question, Monsieur."

"No… I suppose I haven't. But, perhaps if you would be so kind as to meet me here again later, tonight, I could _show _you," he said, instantly wishing he hadn't been so idiotic and said something like that… wishing he had simply turned around when he had seen her… wishing he had never left his blasted house that morning!

"I… I beg your pardon?" she said shakily, taking an instinctive step back.

"Forgive me… that was… wrong of me. I am sorry to have taken up your time… good day, mademoiselle," he replied, giving her a quick bow and hastily making his retreat.

"Wait!" Christine called after him, all the while cursing her infernal curiosity.

Against her better judgment, she caught up to him and reached out to grab his shoulder, to stop him so that he could explain. But the moment she touched him, he spun around to face her, his whole body suddenly tense and alert, his eyes cold and menacing. Christine instantly pulled her hand back, staring, shocked, up at him.

"I… I'm sorry… I wasn't going… to _hurt _you, I…" she explained softly, unable to shake the thought that he looked so much like a caged and wounded animal, ready to spring at her…

"No…" he said at last, visibly relaxing. "Please, forgive me, I…" _I am making a terrible fool out of myself, that's what I'm doing._

"It's all right… what would you want to show me?"

"I… told you that I heard you sing the other day. And when I did, I heard amazing potential… and I wanted to teach you."

"My father has taught me," Christine replied swiftly, growing even warier than she had been before.

"Not to overcome one small obstacle… I could help you do that, Christine. If… you would let me, I could show you how to fly."

Christine only stared at him, remembering the voice she had heard the night before and wondering if what he said was true… wondering why she was even _contemplating_ trusting such a complete and total stranger…

"It's… not as though I'm alone, you know… I have my father and my aunt and uncle and cousins to get past if I wanted to sneak out…"

"It makes little difference what time tonight you are able to get away… that is, you will come?"

Christine hesitated for another moment.

"Yes," she finally said.

"Until tonight, then, Mademoiselle… Christine," Erik said, bowing a little again and actually giving her the faint hint of a smile.

"Until tonight, Monsieur Erik."

The two of them then turned and walked away, each one wondering why they had suddenly lost control of their common sense.

* * *

A/N: So, they've actually met now! Always a good thing...

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Please let me know what you think! Reviews are lovely.

Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	16. Moonlight Cantata

A/N: Happy Friday, all! (does Friday dance)

Thanks very much to HughloverX, queen-of-swing, The Irish Pirate Queen, Nyasia A. Maire, The-Lonely-Child, akutenshi666, laal ratty, and phantomlvr for their reviews!

And, without further ado, I give you the first lesson!

* * *

Chapter 16: Moonlight Cantata 

_13__th__ April 1881_

"Christine! Thank God, there you are – where the devil have you been?"

Lucien burst out of the hallway and into the kitchen the moment Christine had slipped in and closed the door behind her. She had been gone for perhaps an hour. She barely had time to look up before he had crossed the room and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"You promised me you wouldn't wander off by yourself," he said softly, but with a hard edge behind his concern.

"I wasn't wandering, Lucien, and I wasn't alone." Well, the second half was true, in any case. "There are other people in town, you know. I just went for a walk…"

"Garran was awake; you should have taken him along with you."

"Lucien," Christine said, smiling a little at her oddly over-protective cousin and easing his hands off her shoulders. "I am capable of walking through Perros on my own. I'm nineteen years old… you needn't coddle me."

"I just didn't want you to get lost… you and your father are new here."

"We've been here for over a month already," she replied coolly. "Lucien, I don't know why you immediately felt as though it was your duty to protect me every waking moment… if I need your help, I will _ask _you."

Christine turned and walked away from her cousin then, and it was only when she had reached the stairs and begun climbing up to her room that she realized how strangely outspoken she had just been. Was it perhaps because of her conversation with that man, with Erik? Because he had, quite essentially, forced her into giving straight, truthful answers, had not allowed her to back out of any question, had not given her the chance to be shy? She paused at the foot of the steps for a moment, wondering whether she ought to go back and apologize… after all, he had seemed genuinely worried about her…

Finally, she shook her head and climbed up to the attic, sitting down at and staring out of the window that Erik had appeared in that night. She had been right, when she'd told Lucien not to worry about her, that she could take care of herself…

It was high time to start proving that to him.

"Christine?" her father called suddenly from the hallway.

"I'm here, Papa," she called back, turning to look at him as he climbed up the steps.

"I see you're back… Lucien had us all worried that you'd gotten lost and fallen off a cliff," he said, sitting beside her and grinning at his daughter.

"No, Papa, I just went for a walk. I'm sorry if I worried you," she replied, returning his smile a little sheepishly.

"Any particular reason for disappearing at such an early hour?" he asked, his tone clearly telling Christine that, however much he might tease about it, he had been at least a little worried.

"I didn't sleep well last night… For some reason, I found I had a lot to think about… I needed to be on my own for a little bit, needed to figure a few things out."

Frederek nodded in silent understanding. He wrapped his arm around his daughter's shoulders and gently kissed the top of her head.

"Just don't fall off any nearby cliffs if you go wandering again, all right?"

Christine laughed and returned her father's hug, realizing with a lurch that she was planning on sneaking out yet again that very night…

* * *

Erik paced back and forth across his music room, trying to work out exactly he was going to carry out a plan he did not yet have. 

She had agreed to meet him again… she had _agreed_! He had been so utterly shocked at her 'yes'… his three years of nearly-complete solitude had left him even more incapable of dealing properly with other people; why would she want to meet him again after he had made such a complete idiot of himself?

To laugh at him more, perhaps.

At that thought, he stopped dead in his tracks and his hands curled automatically into fists, a low growl resonating in his throat. He would _not _allow her to ridicule him! He could not… could not bear it if she did.

Slowly, his fists uncurled and his tensed shoulders relaxed as, for a brief moment, he thought he felt her gentle touch on his arm once again, momentarily relived the startled concern he'd seen in her warm brown eyes when he'd whipped around to face her… no, there had to be some other reason for her decision to come back… what it was, he could not even begin to fathom.

Nor could he explain why he was so desperately glad that she _had _agreed. Why he was so willing to continue making a fool out of himself.

Taking up his pacing again, he turned his thoughts back to the lesson he intended to give her that night. The fact that he was going to teach her seemed to be the only part of his plan, however. How was he to provide accompaniment – he was not about to show her directly to his home, and even if it had been a slightly more normal situation, what little propriety he had had drilled into him as a child caused him to balk at the very thought; and no doubt she would refuse on precisely the same grounds. And, as he had learned three years prior, he could not simply drag his piano everywhere with him. He would have to bring his violin, then. She would also be familiar with violin accompaniment; he had seen that clearly at her performance in town.

Now, the only questions that remained were exactly how to conduct his lesson, and what piece to use.

Perhaps it would be easier to keep his dignity if she could not see him… perhaps he could adopt the mantle of the Opera Ghost once again, for just a little while…

The thought sickened him. He could not act the ghost for her… it would only drive her away.

Not a ghost, then… but perhaps… perhaps an Angel.

* * *

The sky was wide and open, wheeling above her in a seemingly endless expanse of rich navy blue studded with brilliant silver stars. Christine might have lost herself in the beauty above her had she not reached her destination so quickly. 

She stood on the spot they'd met that morning, or near it, at least. But her masked stranger was nowhere in sight.

"Erik?" she called softly, "Are you there?"

"I am," his voice called, apparently from everywhere and nowhere.

"Where are you? I can't see you anywhere…"

"Ah, yes, but sight can be ever so deceptive, my dear. I am here… but you will _not_ see me."

Christine said nothing for a moment, trying to settle on something to say that would make him face her, cause him to step out into the open, but she was of the opinion that it would be immensely difficult to _make _him do anything. So she merely sighed.

"All right, Erik, play your games if you must," she replied resignedly.

"Very good. Shall we perhaps start with a few scales, then?"

Christine nodded, then realized that he might not be able to see her either. Oddly enough, however, he must have, for a violin suddenly played a simple arpeggio for her, the sound floating ethereally across the nearly empty field. He demonstrated that pitch for her, and then indicated that she should join in the second time.

He never stopped her in the middle of an exercise. Every time, if she did something that he deemed unsatisfactory, he waited patiently for her to finish her scale or arpeggio or triad, whatever warm-up he had set her to, and then gently critiqued her, suggesting that she stand straighter, open her mouth more.

"How can you tell if I'm not opening my mouth enough if you can't see me?" she blurted out after the third time he'd corrected her on that one offense.

From nowhere, the sound of his rumbling chuckle washed over her.

"I _can _see you, my dear; perfectly well. But if I were blindfolded, I would still tell you to open your mouth; I can hear it. What are you afraid of? It is only you and I here; do not be afraid of making a mistake. There is no need to be shy around me."

"Yes, maestro," she answered teasingly, smiling a little.

They resumed the lesson, and with each rising note Christine found that it was, indeed, far easier to sing higher the more she opened her mouth.

"That's it," Erik encouraged, leading her higher than he had dared dream her voice could reach. And as she complied with his instructions, the beautiful, enchanting voice he had heard in town grew more wonderful in leaps and bounds. If she made this much progress in her first lesson… he could not even begin to think where he could take her…

Finally, Christine reached the limit of her range – most of which she hadn't known she had until that night. God, the thought that that had really been her voice… her own voice, soaring like that!

"Are you tired, Christine, or would you like to attempt a piece tonight? I would not want to strain your voice…"

"No… no, I'm fine! Please… continue," she answered quickly, beaming.

He could not help but smile at her reaction.

"I believe you will know this piece, as your father is a violinist, but please, stop me if you do not."

Christine nodded, and Erik prepared to play. He had agonized all afternoon over what piece to use… and had finally settled on this, a perfect duet between violin and soprano.

The moment he began, Christine's smile widened even further. She knew this piece well, had always loved to sing it and always thought it beautiful. She waited for him to finish his introduction, and then took up the melody he had just played with her voice as he played it again underneath her before reaching the lyrics to the song.

"_Jesu, joy of man's desiring,  
Holy Wisdom, Love most bright;_"

The melody began again, with him playing it beautifully along with her glorious soprano's simple, single vowel soaring alongside before breaking off to sing the words once more. _  
_"_Drawn by Thee, our souls aspiring  
Soar to uncreated light._"

Another two lines and Christine returned to the melody before giving it over entirely to Erik. The two tunes wove themselves together seamlessly then, and Christine almost felt as though she _was _flying, carried along through the air by the sound of Erik's glorious violin.

"_Word of God, our flesh that fashioned,  
With the fire of life impassioned,  
Striving still to truth unknown,  
Soaring, dying round Thy throne._

_Through the way where hope is guiding,  
Hark, what peaceful music rings_…"

Finally, and far too soon for both of them, the song came to a close. Both held the lingering final note as long as they could, neither wanting the moment to end.

"That was… that was wonderful, _mon ange_," Erik whispered, and Christine turned to face him, only to find that his voice had not been right in her ear after all.

"Thank you, Erik," she replied, smiling, a blush creeping into her cheeks.

"I think that will be enough for tonight, Christine; I don't want you to overtax your voice, and you ought to be getting back home before you're missed."

Christine nodded again, the request she was planning on making deepening her blush.

"Erik… can't I see you now? I would like to talk to you, just for a few minutes before I really _do _have to return home… and I would be much more comfortable conversing with someone I can see. Please?"

Erik froze, uncertain. She wanted to see him again, stand beside him again… and yet every instinct he had built up over the hard years was screaming at him to run. After a moment of silence, a long, taut silence in which Erik was mentally battling himself, Christine thought that he perhaps had fled at her request and, not a little sullenly, turned to leave.

"Wait…" he said, and she turned again.

Right in front of her, in a spot that seemingly had no shelter from her eyes, a spot she had looked at quite frequently during her lesson, he materialized, slowly, but with a devilish smirk on his face.

"How… how did you do that?"

The smirk only widened.

"Smoke and mirrors, my dear."

* * *

_14__th__ April 1881_

Vivienne rocketed into Christine's attic room at about eleven o'clock the next morning to find her older cousin still fast asleep.

Christine was curled up under the covers with a warmly contented smile on her face, a soft breeze from the open window playing with her tousled auburn curls.

For a moment, Vivienne was reluctant to wake her up – her cousin had never slept that late before, and if it hadn't been for her huge smile, she might have thought something was wrong – but Garran was waiting impatiently at the foot of the attic stairs, and they had exciting and interesting news for her that simply couldn't wait a moment longer.

"Christine!" she hissed, shaking her cousin's shoulder. "Christine, wake up!"

Christine blinked, startled out of her dream, a dream consisting of Erik's voice and violin, to look sleepily up at Vivienne.

"Is anything wrong?" she asked, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes.

"No, nothing's wrong. You just never sleep this late… it's nearly noon!"

"Is… is it really?" She should have known a nighttime lesson would have some effect on her during normal waking hours…

"Yes – and the town's been simply buzzing all morning – they heard the ghost again last night!"

"Did they?" she said, looking straight at her cousin with raised eyebrows.

"Yes, they did – they heard his violin again. It was something… something by Bach, they said, or maybe Mozart… and there was someone else singing with him, too! An angel!"

"Well," Christine said, smiling and holding back a laugh at how quickly they had been 'found out.' "Anything could happen, I suppose."

* * *

A/N: Well? What did you think? Please let me know! Reviews are goooooooooooood. (nodnod) 

The song is _Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring_, and Viv's first guess was right - it is by Bach. Lovely piece - I listened to Celtic Woman's arrangement of it twelve times on repeat while writing this! Although anyone familiar with the song might not know the last two lines - for some reason, modern versions just don't seem to use it. I had to put in the music reference, though. (snicker)

I was planning on calling this chapter "Moonlight _Sonata_," after another famous classical piece, but a sonata is a piece of music that is _played_, while a cantata is _sung_. The things you find out while writing fanfiction!

I also posted a new oneshot last night (as in coughthreeinthemorningcough last night) called "Tragedy" and would be much obliged if you went to check it out!

Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	17. Rain on My Parade

A/N: Happy Friday, all!

Thanks very much to HughloverX, phantomlvr, Nyasia A. Maire, The-Lonely-Child, queen-of-swing, laal ratty, animekitty47, Luckii.Jinx (special thanks for nearly catching all the way up!), and CarolROI for their reviews!

Stealing song titles for chapters is veeeeeeery easy... and rather convenient. This was taken from "Don't Rain on My Parade" from the musical _Funny Girl_. However, the rain in this chapter proves to be... very convenient as well.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 17: Rain on My Parade

_14__th__ April 1881_

Christine veritably skipped down the stairs, humming softly to herself, a huge smile on her face.

"Someone's in a good mood this morning," her father said with a chuckle as she came into the kitchen, "late as it is, at least."

"I'm sorry I overslept, Papa," Christine replied, looking a little embarrassed.

"Nonsense, love, there's nothing wrong with a bit of extra sleep now and then."

Christine moved over to hug her father, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind where he sat. Her smile faded the slightest bit when it occurred to her that there was nothing wrong in a bit of extra sleep, but it was wrong to deceive your own father…

She would tell him soon… she had to. There was no way that she could keep lying to him about what she was doing… or even simply fail to tell him anything at all… it just felt so wrong.

Still… now really wasn't the time… she would think of some way to explain her disappearances soon enough…

And who knew whether or not Erik would appear again? She could not go out looking for him again… something told her she wouldn't find him. No, he had to find her, for the time being, if he wanted to continue teaching her.

Suddenly Vivienne came bounding down the stairs, Garran in tow, and skidded to a stop in front of her uncle.

"_Oncle_ Frederek, would you play something for us, please? I do like your music so much!"

Frederek laughed, looking up at his daughter with a grin, giving her hands a gentle squeeze.

"Well, I don't see why not. It's such a beautiful day; why don't you two run along outside and I'll meet you there in just a moment?"

Viv and Garran both nodded and darted outside, leaving Frederek shaking his head and grinning.

"They seem quite a bit younger than they are, don't they?" he asked, turning to his daughter.

"Sometimes, yes, but Vivienne can act her age, older even. It depends on the situation…" Christine pointed out, tilting her head to one side and looking up at her father.

"Well, are you coming to listen as well?"

"Of course, Papa! I'll meet up with you three in a moment; I'd just like to get something to eat."

Frederek nodded, planting a quick kiss on the top of his daughter's head before going off to collect his violin. Christine waited until she heard him leave before she turned into the kitchen once again. Quietly, she sang to herself, grinning at the memory of last night's lesson… she hoped that there would be more soon…

At last, she grabbed an apple from the small bowl on the kitchen table and made her way outside; she could already hear the lively music coming from the direction of the little shed-like-barn. She slipped out of the door and made her way towards the music, paying little attention, and then turned round the corner of the house, unseen by anyone.

"Christine…"

Christine jumped and looked up, dropping her apple in the process. Erik dove forward and caught it nimbly just before it hit the ground. Instinctively, Christine took a step backwards, surprised by his sudden jerk towards her, but she smiled when he straightened up and held the completely unblemished fruit out to her.

"Bravo, monsieur, and thank you," she said coyly, taking it back. "What brings you here, Erik?"

"I was curious as to whether you were up for another lesson tonight," he replied, careful to keep his voice low, in order to keep the odds of someone stumbling in on their conversation down. He did not want to be discovered… not in the least.

"Of course!" Christine answered, suddenly excited.

"Well, then, I shall meet you in the same place tonight, after sunset. I don't want to keep you…"

"Erik, you do know we were heard last night," Christine added quickly before he could vanish on her. He had a rather uncanny talent of appearing and disappearing; that much she had plainly seen already.

"Were we?" he said, raising an eyebrow – at least, the eyebrow that was not covered by his white mask, that she could see.

"Yes – my cousin woke me this morning to tell me that the Ghost had been playing and an angel singing along…" she trailed off, suddenly blushing furiously.

"Good. They ought to recognize your voice as such."

Christine looked up then, not expecting to hear such blatant praise from him.

"So… you don't care if they hear us? I thought… as someone who pretends to be the local village superstition, you'd be a little more careful about privacy."

Erik jerked his head to the side then, as though determined not to show her how much her pointing that out hurt and angered him. _She doesn't understand you_, he reminded himself, _you've only just met her_… _she doesn't know what you've been through_…_ relax, damn it! _

Christine immediately fell silent as well, knowing she ought to apologize and not knowing how. It struck her again for the hundredth time how strange this conversation was, how strange all of it was… had she ever been so forward with anyone in her life? And yet now she was talking easily, blurting things out to a complete stranger…

Finally, they both spoke at once.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said…"

"I don't want to be keeping you, Christine… until tonight."

And with that he turned and seemed to disappear almost instantly, leaving Christine again wondering how and why he managed such spectacular entrances and exits, and why she apparently could not control her tongue around him.

* * *

Two weeks passed, in which Erik and Christine discovered that the easiest pattern to their nighttime music lessons. After that, they met at more or less the same time three nights a week, although Christine did notice that each time they seemed to be shifting a little farther away from town. Perhaps Erik had listened to her about the villagers being able to hear them… but then, after that first lesson, she had heard no further gossip about the Ghost's companion from her cousins. Perhaps the Perrosians had simply taken it for granted that there was more than one spiritual being on the heath at night.

And she had yet to think of a way to explain any of it to her father…

Erik had – miraculously, it seemed, to him – begun a new composition. It was softer, gentler, than anything he could remember writing, with a simple background of the same continuously rising and falling notes. Akilah would watch him contentedly from her customary place on top of the piano, and he would once again lose himself in music… at least, until it was time for the next lesson.

* * *

_4__th__ May 1881_

The sky was extraordinarily dark that afternoon, and Lucien had reported that the sky had been bright red that morning – there was no doubt in a coming storm.

Christine, however, had to worry about more than simply shutting her windows tightly enough. It was Wednesday; she was supposed to meet Erik for a lesson that night. They had been lucky thus far, and the weather had been cooperative… but what now? Over the past few weeks, she had gotten to know him at least a little better… and she knew that he would not like it if she simply did not show up.

"Accursed weather…" she muttered softly as she moved the trunk she'd placed under the window as a seat out of the way of possible water damage.

"Well, this is a coastal town… we get storms rather often, but they blow over quickly."

Christine turned round to see Lucien standing in the opening that led up to the attic, still on the steps.

"Hello, Lucien," she said cheerfully.

"Would you like some help with that?"

"No, I'm all right. I just wanted to move this out of the way of the window… it has some of my mother's things in it, and… I would hate for anything to be damaged."

He nodded, suddenly feeling awkward; he never knew what to say to her about her mother. It was such an awful thing… and she seemed so withdrawn because of it.

After a long moment of awkward silence, Lucien excused himself, saying that she'd reminded him that his father had needed help pulling something else out of the way of the rain. Christine had only nodded.

* * *

The night was pitch-black, and Christine was extremely thankful that she knew exactly where she was going. It had not yet begun to rain, but she could smell the dampness in the air, and the wind whipped around her, blowing her skirts and her cloak madly around her. She clutched her cloak around her as best she could, cursing her determination not to let Erik down in spite of the horrendous weather. In all likelihood, he had been sensible and stayed home.

Finally, she reached the spot where she was to meet him, but could not see him anywhere.

"Erik!" she cried, thinking that if she could not find him in five minutes she'd have to head back, and quickly. "Are you there?"

For a moment, there was no sound other than the wind whistling past, until finally she heard his voice somewhere in front of her.

"I am here," he answered.

"Erik… isn't there anyplace else we might meet…?" she said, still having to shout a little over the wind, as the first raindrops came splattering down to earth. "It's going to rain… we're in the middle of quite the storm!"

He remained silent, initially. The only place he could take her would be his home, and he still had slight misgivings about that. But if she were to catch cold because of this, because of him, their lessons might be discovered… and stopped.

Erik stepped forward to stand next to her, noticing how cold and worried she looked.

"Follow me," he replied, wrapping both his cloak and his arm around her shoulders as they took off into the night and the rain truly began to fall.

In a matter of fifteen minutes, they reached Erik's home, hidden carefully by a copse of trees, but warm light still glimmering inside. He opened the door and beckoned her inside, and after a brief moment of hesitation she did as he asked, more than glad to get out of the wind. Luckily his thick cloak had kept most of the rain off her. Christine stepped out of the way so that he might follow her in, and he shut the door behind them.

"Well," he said, "welcome to my home, Christine."

* * *

A/N: Well? What did you think? Questions, comments, concerns, critiques? Please? Reviews are always appreciated!

(I'm trying to work out the age thing you pointed out, Carol. Thanks for telling me!)

Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	18. Trust Me

A/N: Happy (almost - it's 10:30 pm and I just felt like posting) Friday! Well, almost, anyway - it's about 10:30 here and I just felt like posting before going to bed in a bit. I did nothing today and yet I'm rather tired... perhaps I've been reading too much.

...Nah! No such thing!!

Reviews have been really great lately! (claps happily) Thanks to The-Lonely-Child, HughloverX, eglette82, queen-of-swing, neko-chan, poetzproblem, akutenshi666, Nyasia A. Maire, Elphie89, Animekitty47, -Green-Clown, and laal ratty. Thanks especially to those who have done some major catching-up!

I have some more notes, but I don't want to spoil anything... I'll save those for later. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 18: Trust Me 

_4__th__ May 1881_

Christine blinked a little at the sudden brightness inside the entryway, turning back to look at Erik, silently asking 'what now?' just as Erik was wondering exactly that.

"Here… let me take your cloak…" he offered, hoping he did not sound as awkward as he felt.

She nodded and fumbled with the catch on her cloak before pulling it from around her shoulders and holding it out to him.

"Thank you," she said softly as he took it.

"Follow me, Christine… I'll hang them up in front of the fire, they'll dry faster…"

And then, turning quickly, he led her into his music room, assuming that they would continue to have the lesson that night, and that everything would stop seeming so uncomfortable once they began.

Christine quickly noted that, while the room was cozy, it was clearly _his_. What little she had gleaned about him in the past weeks seemed to be clearly reflected in that little room; there was only one light, aside from the fire, and the flickering beams danced across the floor – dark wood, but covered in most places by very old-looking Persian carpets. There was a small but clearly well-cared for piano pressed against the wall opposite the door, and a shelf carefully propped up a few instrument cases – notably a guitar and flute. His violin case was open on top of the piano, the instrument's already golden-orange finish glowing softly in the firelight. Music was scattered all across the top of the piano as well, some of it on the floor; it seemed to make a path to the armchair and small sofa set in front of the fire.

"This is a lovely room, Erik," she said as he draped her cloak over the back of the armchair and carelessly tossed his onto the arm of the sofa.

Before he could reply, there was a soft _mrrow_ sound, and Christine suddenly realized that what she had thought to be a white pillow on the couch was in fact a cat. The cat uncurled and stretched before jumping down and entwining herself around Erik's legs, purring loudly.

"I didn't know you had a cat," Christine said, a little surprised.

"Her name's Akilah… I think she's trying to say that I shouldn't have gone out in that weather," he told Christine as Akilah planted herself in front of him and gave him a typically feline look of disdain.

She then decided to notice Christine and got to her feet again, cautiously approaching the stranger. Christine knelt down and offered the little white cat her fingers to sniff, which Akilah did before allowing her to scratch her ears, gratefully squashing her head into Christine's hand.

"She's adorable," Christine said, laughing, as Akilah continued to circle her.

"She must like you," Erik replied, equally amused.

Akilah lapped up Christine's attentions for another few minutes before she turned back to sit by Erik's feet. Christine smiled at the little cat and then looked up at her teacher expectantly.

"Shall we begin, then?" he asked, and she nodded.

He crossed the room to sit at the piano, Akilah bounding after him and perching herself on top. Christine held back a laugh at the little cat's obvious devotion to him; it was so sweet, a situation she had never even thought to picture him in. Quietly, she moved over to stand beside him as Erik played the chord of the first arpeggio.

"Now I can _properly_ warm you up… it is much easier to practice along with a piano, I'm not particularly fond of scales on violin."

Christine only nodded, since she had a feeling he was talking more to himself than to her.

The now-familiar pattern of their lesson began, and Christine could not help but notice the faint smile that settled onto Erik's face as she sang. As she began to rise higher, she saw that Akilah's ears twitched noticeably forward with each new pitch until, at perhaps a high A, the little cat's head rose entirely and she turned to look at her, somewhat surprised. With that, she could not help but burst out laughing.

"What?" Erik asked, puzzled as to why she would stop so suddenly.

"I'm sorry," she said, still giggling. "Your cat has the most amusing expressions…"

Erik turned to look at Akilah, who was still staring at Christine, puzzled now not because of her nice voice, a voice that was so different from his and yet still lovely, but because of her funny smile and her sudden laughter. She then turned to look at Erik, as though to ask if she'd done anything wrong, and he chuckled then as well.

"Ready?" he asked when she was finally able to stop laughing – not that he minded. It had been so long since he had heard someone else laugh in his presence… a soft, gentle laugh, not a jeer directed at him.

Christine nodded and waited for him to turn and continue, but he did not. Instead, he suddenly frowned.

"Stand up straight," he said sharply.

"I am," Christine responded, a little startled. She had never been one to slouch… at least, as far as she knew…

"No, not enough," he said, getting to his feet and circling around her. "It makes it easier to breathe properly if you're standing perfectly straight."

"Like this?" she asked, pushing her shoulders back and raising her head up.

"No… here…"

Christine suddenly tensed and gasped, her eyes growing wide with shock, as she suddenly felt his hand settle on her lower back. She whirled around to look at him, scared in his presence for the first time. Inadvertently, she took a step back… anything to keep him from touching her, a touch that sent such strange shivers up her spine…

For a moment, Erik could only see the frightened expression on her face, the obvious terror she felt simply from his contact… it took him a moment to remember that he must have startled her. He forced himself to hide his hurt, something he knew could easily degenerate into behavior he would rather not show ever again… least of all in front of her… and for some reason he was determined to make her trust him…

"Would you please stand still for just a moment, Christine? I won't hurt you," he said softly.

Christine allowed herself to breathe again, and slowly nodded, although she still looked nervous. Quickly, she looked away as Erik moved to stand beside her again, staring at the carpet as he put his hand back where it had been, his fingertips on his other hand then pressing on her shoulders, just below her collarbones, until she was standing ramrod straight, almost uncomfortably so.

"Like that," he said, stepping away quickly. "Do you feel that?"

Christine was quick to agree, a blush rapidly heating her face.

Erik returned to the piano and wordlessly resumed the lesson, noticing that while she seemed rather breathless for a long while afterwards, she did remain standing perfectly straight, perfectly still.

* * *

A/N: Ok, you fluff-mongers - have at it. 

This was brought on by two, perhaps very different, real experiences of mine. A friend of mine who does the school musicals with me also takes voice lessons, and it was she who sort of prodded me into a very upright position, much like Erik did to Christine. She warned me, though. And I've also had a male substitute for my ballet teacher on one or two occasions... which is, to say the very least... _awkward_.

And, of course, we also have fluff in the form of cat fluff - Akilah is just adorable. I'm glad you guys like her so much! One of my betas told me she was sort of Mme. Giry in cat form... a little feline conscience for Erik!

Oh - and _completely_ off topic, but I've discovered a new lovely musical for any theater lovers - The Pirate Queen. If you liked Les Miz, and you like Celtic Music, you'd love this. I have no idea why it got such terrible reviews and had to close... I loved it, and the CD is wonderful. The song "If I Said I Loved You" will most definitely be making an appearance here somehow...

Please keep those lovely reviews coming! Your feedback is always very helpful and appreciated! Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	19. Tightrope Walking

A/N: Hello all! Well, technically it's Friday - it is one in the morning - and since I won't be home tomorrow, I just remembered to post this now instead.

Just since I won't be home doesn't mean you shouldn't review! I'm coming back! And looking forward to a nice full inbox when I do... (I hope? Please?)

That said, thanks very, very much to queen-of-swing, HugloverX, ladyAlyafaelyn, Nyasia A. Maire, laal ratty, Elphie89, Animekitty47, The-Lonely-Child, Avatarwolf (special thanks for playing catch-up!), poetzproblem, Songstressgirl07 (also thanks for reading all the way through!) and akutenshi666 for their lovely reviews! Yay!

I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!

* * *

Chapter 19: Tightrope Walking 

_4__th__ May, 1881; late_

Their music lesson ended just as the squalling winds outside began to die down. Once he was sure that the rain did not whip violently about as it had before, Erik offered to escort Christine home.

"Yes, thank you. It's so dark… and I'm not really sure of the way back from here."

He nodded, then turned to pick up her cloak, which was now dry. He was tempted to place it around her shoulders for her – hadn't he seen many a gentleman do just that at the opera? – but the thought of the posture-correcting incident only an hour or so ago stayed his hand. He found that he could not bear to have Christine look at him so terrified again… not now. Instead, he simply handed it to her, and then went about extracting Akilah from his hat and brushing white fur off of it… for the thousandth time.

Christine had to smile at the sight of Erik, always so elegant and eloquent, battling with the amazing clinginess of cat hair.

"You're lucky she sits on the inside of it," she commented quietly, and he smiled a little as he finally jammed it onto his head, pulling the wide brim as far down over the right side of his face as he could.

Akilah simply glared at the both of them.

"Come, Christine… let's get you back before you're missed," he said, striding forward and holding the door open for her.

They made the long walk back in silence, each concentrating solely on keeping their footing on the wet ground. The hem of Christine's skirt was soaked through by the time they reached her home, but she minded very little just then – it would be easy enough to hide.

"So… I'll see you on Saturday, then, Erik?"

Erik's head jerked up when she suddenly spoke at last, and all he could do was stare at her for a short moment. He hadn't been able to completely convince himself that he'd only startled her before, that she hadn't really _feared_ him, and he had almost been expecting her not to come back… but apparently he was wrong.

"Yes… I shall meet you at our usual spot outside, but I think it would be safer to have the lesson itself at my home… in case of further inclement weather."

Christine smiled at him through the darkness before turning and slipping up to the back door. She pulled a small brass key out from under the doormat and unlocked it as quietly as she possibly could before replacing it and sneaking inside, shutting the door behind her. Once Erik had heard the almost imperceptible click of the lock on the other side of the door, he too headed for home.

Akilah was still glaring at him when he came in.

"What?" he asked, aware of her mismatched eyes fixed irritatedly on him as he removed his hat and cloak. She did not even move to sit in his hat once he'd set it down. She had liked Christine well enough; she had been a new person who was friendly to her and scratched her ears. She hadn't, however, guessed that her presence meant that Erik would completely and totally ignore _her _for the _entire _evening.

"Might I ask what I have done to elicit such a fierce look, _ma petite_?"

Obviously, he received no answer, and he gave up trying to appease her.

_Wonderful_, he thought as he sat down at the piano again, _I didn't know a cat could give such a cold shoulder_…

He'd ignored her all evening, that was why… had he ever done that before? Akilah had been his lone companion for the past three years; he had never disregarded her…

Until he'd met Christine.

He almost laughed. Both at the absurdity of analyzing his cat's thought process and because his cat was apparently jealous of his student. Ridiculous.

After a few minutes of listening to him play, huffily sitting with her back turned, Akilah gave in and jumped onto the top of the piano, still giving him the typically feline glare she had so perfected. Erik only laughed and scratched her ears until she was purring instead of scowling.

"You liked her before," he admonished as she curled up into her customary position to watch him play.

But he did not begin. He simply sat with his long-fingered hands poised over the keyboard for what seemed a very long time, until Akilah's soft mew brought him back to reality.

"And what of it?" he said suddenly, letting his hands slip off the keys. "Even a monster of a man can still be human… can he not?"

His cat stared at him, thoroughly nonplussed by his seemingly non-sequitur declaration.

But Erik had realized, in his inadvertent shunning of his cat that evening, that no matter how hard he had tried to ignore it – damn, he had almost succeeded in the past three years – he was only human… and desperately craved human acceptance.

Damn it, but was he still the same now as he was when he was little more than an attention-starved child, begging his mother for a birthday kiss?

He got forcibly to his feet, standing so quickly that the piano bench was actually knocked to the floor. Stalking out of the room, he was only thankful that Christine had not been present for such a display of his black mood… of his accursedly unpredictable temper. Somehow, he had been able to logically explain her shock earlier… but he knew that he _needed_ to make her trust him… something about her screamed that she was his last chance.

Why was he so hell-bent to associate with her, to keep her from fearing him at all costs? Was it perhaps the way she looked at _him_, and did not stare fixedly at his mask…?

He cursed, loudly and colorfully, before retreating to his little library in an attempt to control his alternatingly dark and melancholy thoughts.

* * *

_6__th__ May 1881_

Christine sang softly to herself as she helped her aunt in the small garden at the back of the house. It didn't matter so much that her knees were beginning to hurt from kneeling on the ground for so long, it didn't matter that pulling weeds was an immensely tedious task. It was a beautiful day and Christine was glad to have a reason to be out in it, enjoying the warm golden glow of the sun on her face.

She and her aunt did not converse much during the course of the morning, until Majorie finally got to her feet, brushing the dirt off her hands and throwing her pile of weeds into the rubbish bin.

"I've got to go in and begin lunch now… thank you so much for helping me, dear."

"It wasn't any trouble at all, _tante_. I'll be in in a bit."

Majorie nodded and made her way into the house, leaving Christine on her own. Subconsciously, she began to sing a little bit louder as she continued to work at the garden.

She brushed a strand of curly hair that had come loose from her chignon back behind her ear, smudging a little dirt onto her cheek as she did. Carefully, she cleared the last of the previous fall's leaves from around the thorny stems of her aunt's rosebush, taking a moment to admire the beautiful red flowers. She then got up and stretched before transporting her own bunch of weeds into the trash heap as well.

_It's such a lovely day_, she mused, once again thinking how nice it was to feel the warm sunlight on her face.

With a pang and a sudden halt to her song, she wondered… had Erik never been able to experience such a pleasant sensation? What could he possibly hide behind his mask…? She had always been far too shy to ask, and somehow knew that he would not gladly surrender the information…

"Don't stop on my account, Christine," someone said from the steps of the house.

Christine turned slightly to see her father standing there, watching her. He thought she had noticed that he was there and so stopped.

"You've improved," Frederek told his daughter, pleased and a little puzzled. He had heard her singing more of late, but nothing that could really constitute as practicing…

Christine's eyebrows flew up, worried and surprised that he had noticed so easily. She would have to be more careful hereafter… she still was not at all comfortable with lying to him, but she felt she had to at least try and respect Erik's wishes as well… there had to be a good reason for the secrecy, at least.

"Have I? Well… thank you," she said, smiling at him.

Frederek only watched his daughter curiously for a moment before smiling and nodding.

"Come inside, Christine. Your aunt just called for everyone to come in and wash up for lunch."

Christine nodded and dutifully followed her father indoors, once again racked with guilt. Whether Erik wanted it or not, she knew she would have to tell him soon… the longer she waited, the harder it made it to explain.

And yet, even guiltier still, part of her realized that there was no way she could explain her lessons with Erik and be able to continue seeing him. Somehow, it just wasn't that simple.

* * *

A/N: Aw, everybody's having a good think right about now... and not necessarily coming up with anything great...

Dang, I forgot - also a huge thanks to Eaglefire and Mage Firestorm, my lovely wonderful betas and friends. They're so helpful and I have recently been able to convince them to really pick my work to pieces, so it should be a lot better! Hey, three heads are better than one, right?

Thanks everyone for reading, and please let me know what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated! --Kyrie


	20. Sweet Dreams Be Yours

A/N: Whoops! Sorry I forgot to update yesterday... I had a voice lesson and a show to do.

Ok, fine, that's a terrible excuse, but you try thinking when you're feeling nauseous from pre-show spasticness!

Aaaaanyway... thanks very much to everyone who reviewed in spite of being stupid and not sending out alerts YET AGAIN... that being Nyasia A. Maire, queen-of-swing, ladyAlyafaelyn, The-Lonely-Child, HughloverX, Hot4Gerry, Animekitty47, and akutenshi666.

And also yay for my lovely betas, Mage Firestorm and Eaglefire, the latter of which is sitting here looking pleased with herself, so... (and with a werewolf character of mine locked in her closet).

So... in the face of all that insanity, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Chapter 20: Sweet Dreams Be Yours 

_11__th__ May 1881_

Erik was late.

He had never been late to a single one of their lessons, and yet tonight, he was late. Nowhere to be found… it was rather odd. Christine had come to expect effortless punctuality from him… in fact, everything he did seemed to be effortless.

Christine stared up at the black sky, watching the feathery clouds glide across the moon. The night was dark and foreboding, and she was more than glad that Erik had relented and begun giving her lessons in his home. She was supposed to meet him here, and then he would lead her there; his home was rather well-hidden amongst the distant trees, but she was beginning to remember the route on her own. Still, finding her way alone on such a black night did not appeal to her… she would just wait here for him.

Ten minutes later, Erik dodged silently through the trees around his home as he half-ran towards their customary meeting place. Damn his luck, but of course the first time he had gotten so caught up in his music in a very long time, he had an appointment to keep. He nearly laughed aloud at that thought; when had he ever had a _pleasant _meeting he needed to go to…?

She was looking the other way when he finally got there, and she jumped when she heard him call her name, but then she smiled at him.

"Erik! There you are… you startled me."

"I'm sorry, Christine… I lost track of the time," he admitted.

Christine quickly fell into step beside him as they returned to his home, suddenly marveling at how tall he was as she turned to look up at him while they walked. Her head barely passed his shoulder.

"What were you doing?" she inquired.

"I was… composing," he replied a little hesitantly. He thought most of his music a little too dark for her.

"I didn't know you wrote your own music…" Christine said, although she was only a little surprised. She remembered the music that was scattered all across the one room he always brought her to and gave herself a mental kick for never looking more closely at it. "I… I would love to hear some of it."

Erik stiffened. Sharing music with her had become some of the brightest times in his life, but sharing _his_ music… it felt wrong. His music was, as much as he had tried to change it, extremely personal… it reflected every dark, wounded nuance of him. He did not want to expose Christine to the truth of the _thing_ she had so easily offered her friendship to.

And yet he found himself answering her with a gruff "Perhaps."

"No, stop. It's… here, like _this_."

Once again, Erik halted Christine as she stumbled over an awkward section of jumbled Italian and fast notes. He never let her finish with anything less than perfection, but at least up till now he had only given her songs in a language she understood! The Italian art songs he was setting for her today were, admittedly, quite beneficial to her voice, as they were filled with runs and jumps, but the language itself was causing her to stumble over her tongue on many an occasion, especially when the librettist was feeling particularly insane and squeezing upwards of three vowels onto one note.

He played the rhythm out for her once again, and again she tried, again in vain.

"_No_," he stressed, clearly a bit irritated with her now. "Like _this_."

That time, however, he sang the line for her. Christine closed her eyes and smiled at the exquisite sound of his velvety voice. She had not heard him sing since he had first appeared at her window, and she had been too shy to think of a way to ask him. When she next sang the line for him, her intonation was perfect.

"Well," he said with a laugh, "perhaps I ought to sing for you more often."

"Yes," she replied, laughing as well, but her tone was soon quite serious. "Perhaps you should… I'd like that."

Erik's head jerked up suddenly, and he caught her eye, staring at her in a rather surprised way. She _liked_ his voice… liked something about _him_.

Christine was once again caught in the intensity of his gaze, until she finally looked away, her cheeks flushing slightly. After another lingering moment, Erik cleared his throat and turned back to the piano.

The rest of the lesson moved smoothly, until Christine had mastered the song enough to meet Erik's high standards. At last, he pulled his long-fingered hands away from the keys and looked up at her, nodding, signifying that the lesson was at an end. Christine smiled, pleased with her progress that night, and began looking around at the music she could see scattered across the top of the piano and the small, unobtrusive bookshelf that sat beside it. Some of the pieces were titled, some not, but what she had failed to notice before in her quick scanning of the room was that they all bore the same distinct handwriting, whether it was used to create words or notes.

Erik let her look through his music, sitting silently at the piano with his hands clenched on his knees so hard that his knuckles were nearly white. He knew how much she wanted to hear his music… and he so wanted to refuse, but to deny her such a seemingly innocent thing would no doubt invite more unwanted questions from the inquisitive girl than simply showing her the music would… he hoped.

Until, that is, she reached down for a bound package of manuscript paper that lay opened, half on and half off the bottom shelf of the bookcase, in which the notes were scrawled in red ink… until she reached for _Don Juan Triumphant_. He had nearly forgotten about it until just that morning, and had torn through the box of music Nadir had helped him pack all those years ago in Paris to find the manuscript, had spent all morning, afternoon, and evening furiously composing… and now he saw Christine's innocent white fingers reach down towards the enticing red lettering…

"No!" he barked suddenly.

Christine jerked up, looking back at him with a rather startled expression on her face. Her warm brown eyes were wide and curious as they looked so questioningly at him… but they asked a question he dared not answer.

"Not that," he said, noting and cursing how desperate his voice suddenly sounded. "I will play you anything… anything of… mine… save for that."

Christine's eyebrows furrowed, and she tilted her head to the side in puzzlement. Why not that? Why did he seem so desperate all of a sudden? But when she truly noticed the tense rigidity in his shoulders and the slight red flush on his unmasked cheek… and the look in his eyes, both a threat and a plea… she knew it was better not to press him.

"All right," she said before moving away from his music and sinking down into the tall, wingbacked armchair. "I'll let you choose."

Erik visibly relaxed, and began to rack his mind for a 'safe' piece of his to play for her. As he was thinking, he looked back at her, and nearly laughed when he saw her watching him closely, her arms crossed imperiously across her chest.

Suddenly, a white streak barreled into the room, coming to a halt directly in the center. Akilah looked around at both of them; Erik was in the way of her jumping up onto the piano from there, and Christine was sitting in _her _chair. She sat down and washed her tail pensively for a moment, before deciding to wing it and jumping suddenly into Christine's lap. Surprised, Christine nonetheless began absently patting the small cat as soon as she'd settled down.

Erik shook his head at his cat's antics, and then turned back to the piano, having chosen a suitably harmless piece to play. It was the one consisting of patterns of rising and falling notes that he had begun shortly after Christine's first lesson… he hoped that she would like it.

Christine concentrated on looking at her hands as she scratched the top of Akilah's head while Erik played. He had seemed so reluctant to share his personal music with her… she thought perhaps not staring at him as he played, even though he was looking away from her as well, would make him feel more at ease.

It was difficult, though. The music he played for her was _wonderful_… the tune was slow, lilting… almost sad. Its slightly melancholy air came across in the lingering retards, the soft simplicity of the baseline notes… but sad or not, it was _achingly _beautiful.

For Erik, the piece ended far too soon… but end it did. He let the final notes trail off endlessly until they finally died away and he turned to look at Christine. What had she thought of it?

"That was beautiful, Erik," she said truthfully, smiling warmly at him. "Thank you. I only wish I had something like that… something of mine… to share with you in return."

"I… thank you, Christine, but really, that's not…"

"No, Erik, I mean it," she interrupted quickly. "I… I know how hard it is to perform… you're offering _yourself_ up to your audience… and you can never know for certain if you'll measure up in their eyes." Her whispered declaration showed exactly the reason she was always so unnerved about performing for anyone but her father.

Erik nodded silently in understanding; he had often performed before a crowd of strangers, but then, those had never been exactly normal performances… and he had grown deaf to their cries after a time.

"Wait, I know…" Christine said, shifting a little in her chair, but carefully so as not to disturb the sleeping cat. "My father told me stories all the time when I was a child… and, well… most of them centered on… well, an Angel of Music." She blushed and looked away for a moment, but Erik was interested. He leaned towards her, the curious expression on his face now.

"Go on," he gently prodded.

"Well, Papa would tell me about him all the time… he was a wonderful storyteller. The Angel of Music would often figure into his bedtime stories to me… he insisted that every great musician, every great artist received a visit from the Angel at least once in his life. Sometimes the Angel leaned over their cradle, and that would be how there are little prodigies who play the fiddle at six better than men at fifty… Sometimes, the Angel came much later, if the children are naughty and won't learn their lessons or practise their scales. And, sometimes, he would not come at all, because the children had a bad heart or a bad conscience. But he would always come to those who were worthy of the great gift of Music…"

Christine seemed to have inherited her father's skill at storytelling, for although she told him of her simple childhood fairytales, she completely captured and held his full attention. She skillfully spun him a few lingering, wonderful moments of light and peace… a little palace of irrational dreams.

* * *

Erik woke with a yell, jerking up into a sitting position and nearly falling off the settee. His mask had been knocked askew in sleep, and when he reached up to adjust it, he realized he was shaking and drenched in cold sweat. 

He often had nightmares… but at least he would always be able to see who it was that was causing the pain!

In his dream, everything had been dark around him, completely black, without a speck of light anywhere. He wondered for a moment how his unseen enemy had been able to make out his targets…

The nightmare had been swift… swift, but brutal. He had only been in that oppressive darkness for a few moments when a resounding crack rang out, the sound of a gun being fired… it was followed shortly by a pained grunt, and a thud as something… some_one_… heavy fell to the ground. There was a long, tense, disturbingly silent moment before there was a last cough… and then stillness again.

There was a gasp… a gasp overshadowed mainly by a cat's angry yowling and hissing… but the snarl rose into a pained high-pitched wail as there was suddenly another gunshot… it was not long before the cat's wounded cries died away as well. Erik snarled at that memory; he would kill anyone who dared hurt Akilah… although he had a sinking feeling that the first shot had been for him.

The cat's death had been followed by another gasp… which drew out into a sob, then another… it was the sound of a young woman desperately crying, pleading with… something… _for _something…

And then… another crack… this gunshot was prolonged somehow, as though this hellish, dark world he had been transported into had suddenly ceased to move at a normal speed… until finally he heard her give a little cry as well… sink to the ground to join the others…

He had woken just as his shout of horror tore from his throat.

Christine… where was Christine? Was she safe, was she all right? Somehow, she had been in that dream… she had been the girl crying at the end… God only knew how she had come to be with him at such a time… when perhaps the nefariousness of his past finally caught up with him…

He looked frantically around his music room – had she gone home already? – and saw her still sound asleep in his armchair a little ways away, with his cat still curled in her lap. Her head was tucked against the high back of the chair, and she looked perfectly peaceful…

"Christine…" he breathed, her name almost like a prayer… in any case, it reassured him immensely.

Slowly, Christine stirred, and Erik quickly made sure that his mask was securely on his face as she stretched out the kink in her neck before blinking her eyes open.

"Papa?" she asked sleepily, then saw that she was not at home… not her old home in Sweden, where she had dreamt she was only moments before, nor in her new home… "No… Where am I?"

Recognition dawned on her tired face as she saw the piano against the wall nearby, and she turned to look the other way, only to find Erik staring fixedly at her. She would have jumped a little had there not been a cat on her lap.

"Erik…" she said softly, sounding both surprised and somehow pleased to find him there. Suddenly, however, a note of panic crept into her voice. "What time is it? How long have I been here? God, if I'm not back… and they find me gone…"

He glanced up at the clock on the fireplace mantle.

"It's four in the morning… Come, Christine, I'll take you home. You'll be back before you're missed, don't worry."

Christine nodded, carefully picking up the still-sleeping Akilah and depositing her in the armchair once she'd gotten up. Erik quickly grabbed his cloak and hat and escorted Christine out the door, once again wrapping his arm and thick, warm cloak around her shoulders. Drowsily, Christine leaned on him as they made their way back to her home.

Erik could barely think of that, however. He was still entirely focused on that horrible nightmare… why would that boy… that dratted Persian boy whose father's murder he'd had a hand in… who would want to harm his cat and Christine? How had they even discovered Christine's connection to him… was he placing her in more and more danger with each lesson? Killing _him_ he could understand… he had done much to deserve that fate… but Christine was entirely innocent…

It had only been a nightmare. It would never happen… he needn't worry about it.

* * *

A/N: Bad Erik and Christine, to fall asleep! And go home at four in the morning... tsk. Well, what did you think? Questions, comments, concerns? Anybody? Reviews are very nice, and very much appreciated!

And yes, I am absolutely terrible and like to name chapter titles from song lyrics.

Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	21. Crashing Down

A/N: Jesus, but that was a bit thunderclap! I'd better get off quickly before the storm really hits...

Thanks very much to everybody who reviewed - HughloverX, Nyasia A. Maire, Timeflies, Animekitty47, The-Lonely-Child, queen-of-swing, poetzproblem, akutenshi666, and ladyAlyafaelyn. You guys rock!!!

And yes, this is where things turn sour... Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 21: Crashing Down

A week passed, and then another, and another. Time has a funny habit of slipping by the quickest when each moment seems to take forever. There were times when Christine felt that Erik had appeared at her window just the night before, and others when she felt she had known him forever.

Nothing was ordinary, and yet everything was perfectly normal.

Their lessons were still held in secret, in the dead of night. The one time Christine had tried to persuade Erik to allow her to explain everything to her father, his only response had been a tense, angry silence, and she had quickly let the matter drop. Erik was not about to give up one of two human companions he'd had in his lifetime… even if it was only brief, stolen moments of happiness.

And so Christine spent her days in music as well as her nights, as she spent as much time as she could with her father, a sort of silent apology for betraying his trust. He had coaxed her into performing with him twice more, although she had not sung more than a few songs each time, for fear her vast improvement would be discovered and questioned.

_Don Juan Triumphant _began to grow slowly under Erik's renewed focus, and he was able to remember to hide the manuscript each time Christine was present in his music room. And Akilah had gotten used to the fact that she now had to share Erik.

From Erik's standpoint especially, everything was going perfectly.

Sadly, all good things must pass…

* * *

_4__th__ June 1881_

She hadn't been there.

He had come to their accustomed meeting place, at the usual time… and she had been nowhere in sight.

This had not been cause for terrible alarm; he himself, the ever-punctual Opera Ghost, had sometimes gotten too caught-up in his music to notice the time, and had so been late once or twice. She would come soon – it was nothing to worry about.

Erik spent five minutes staring up at the sky and straining his ears for the sounds of her soft footfalls. But then five minutes elapses into ten, and ten into twenty…

It was when he had waited for her for over a half-hour that he was no longer able to convince himself that she had been delayed. He could not even hear the approach of anything in the distance, could not hear anything that might indicate she had been hurt, and sound carried easily in the still night air of the expanse of flat land…

She was not coming.

He should have known it would come to this… either she had finally given in and told her father, and he had seen to it that she could not slip out again, or she had finally come to her senses…

With a low growl that was half of fury, half of anguish, he whirled around and swept off, stalking back to his home, somehow reminiscent of a wounded hawk.

He shoved the music room door out of his way as he stalked in, not bothering to remove his cloak and hat, ignoring Akilah's affronted yowl as she dodged out of the way of the swinging door and her companion's fury.

Seething, he merely stood in the doorway, letting it sink in. He had lost everything. He had come so far… had come _so close_… only to have it all torn from him now… even for such a demon as he was, this was too cruel.

He had dared to hope that she could be different. He had dared to hope that Christine could do what no other ever had and see completely beyond the mask… be able to trust him… and not look at him in fear.

_So close_…

_You damned fool_, another part of him roared. Violently, he grabbed his mask and flung it to the floor, knocking his hat off as well. _Remember who you are! You are a murderer, a monster of the worst kind_… _you had no right to hope for such things! You do not deserve such happiness! _

He pressed his fingers hard into the twisted, reddened flesh of his devil's face, almost as though to remind himself that Fate had never been kind to him… why should it start now?

* * *

Christine pressed herself behind the folding staircase that led up to her attic room, her eyes wide and frightened. She heard someone talking… someone nearby. Was one of her cousins awake, or perhaps her aunt and uncle? Her father?

God, what if they found her? She was fully clothed, and heading _down_ the stairs… what would she say to them? There was no way to avoid questions should there be any…

But then the voice came again, and when she recognized it as her father's, her heart sank even more.

"Eliane! Eliane, where are you? Christine… no, Christine, stay _back_… Eliane!"

No… no, he couldn't be reliving that horrible afternoon… Forgetting all her fears about being caught, she rushed into her father's room to find it just as she had suspected – he was tossing and turning violently, caught in the horror of his nightmare.

"Papa… Papa, I'm right here… It's all right, shhhh, everything's fine… Papa!"

It seemed he couldn't hear her… Desperately, she knelt down beside his bed in the tiny little room they'd found for him and grabbed his shoulder, calling him as loudly as she dared.

"Papa! It's me… it's Christine! I'm right here – we're both fine! Papa, wake up!"

With a final cry, Frederek jerked awake, sitting halfway up and breathing hard, his eyes wide and scared.

"Christine?" he asked softly.

"Yes, Papa, it's me… everything's all right… you were dreaming…" she replied, trying to smile at him, but her voice shook.

It took a long time for him to fall asleep again, and she stayed with him, all the while realizing how hatefully ironic the whole situation was. She had known, perhaps, that one day she would no longer need her father to watch over her, but she had never imagined such a distinct, almost painful switch. How many times had he comforted her after a nightmare and stayed by her side until she was asleep again?

When her father was finally asleep again and she had composed herself, she realized with horror that she was extremely late for her lesson. As quickly and quietly as she could, she raced down the stairs and out the door, breaking into a run as soon as she was away from the house. By the time she reached their meeting place, she was completely winded, and, as she had feared, Erik was nowhere in sight.

_I ought to at least go and apologize for being so late_… she thought as she tried to catch her breath. _I should be able to find my way by now_…

Determinedly, she set off alone for Erik's little house hidden amongst the trees. She was surprised to find the door slightly ajar, and the house seemingly deserted. Suddenly apprehensive, she pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway, softly calling out his name. There was no answer.

_If he's here at all, he'll be in the music room_… she thought. Perhaps he had gone looking for her when she had been delayed for so long…

Oddly enough, the door to the music room was open as well, this time wide open. It wasn't like him to leave things out in the open and easy to reach…

"Erik…" she called as she stepped into view through the doorframe.

Instinctively, Erik's head shot up at the sound of her voice, and suddenly he froze, his look of horror perfectly mirrored in Christine's eyes.

For a long moment, she simply stood rooted to the spot, her eyes darting between Erik's face and the white mask lying discarded on the floor at his feet.

Slowly, one hand moved up to cover her mouth, which hung open in shock, and then the other one joined it, as though to forcibly hold back a scream…

Erik turned the right side of his face away from her then, studying the patterns on the carpet beneath his feet. His hands curled into fists of their own accord; his last chance now lay in shattered pieces on the floor.

"So…" he finally said, his voice low and harsh. "Come to stare at the beast, have you?"

Each word he spoke rose until he was finally roaring at her, and he turned his ruined face back towards her and saw her frightened eyes widen even more. Without a second thought, he lunged nearer to her.

It was then that she screamed, however inadvertently and muffled through her hands. It was then that Erik truly lost all self-control.

"Satisfied, Christine? Has your _damnable _curiosity been appeased? You've seen what lies beneath the mask now… are you happy?"

"Erik…" Christine said softly, her voice shaking. "Erik… please…stop…"

"You ought to have left well enough alone, my dear!" he raged at her, heedless of her quiet plea. "But now you have seen the stuff of nightmares; I may have an Angel's voice, but I have always possessed a devil's face!"

He continued to walk slowly towards her, and she always backed away, terrified of his complete fury.

"Not such a worthy companion now, am I? And to think, a demon, a monster has taught you over these past weeks! That frightens you, doesn't it, to think that you have lied to your beloved father for the sake of a fiend?"

Suddenly, with a small cry, Christine stepped onto the hem of her dress and fell, crumpling to the floor in an ungraceful heap, putting her head in her hands and suppressing tears at the ferocity she saw in the harsh grey eyes she had thought she'd known so well… The horror of his malformed face, the flesh twisted and reddened on the right side, sunken in places and raised in others, was nothing to his terrible anger.

"Erik… I'm sorry…" she whispered, somehow managing to keep her voice even, perhaps strong.

Still seething mightily, her soft words caused his tensed shoulders to relax and his fists to slowly uncoil. Slower still, he realized that screaming at her would do no good. Undoubtedly, he had already terrified her beyond all reason… She was lost to him. There was no point in directing his fury at her.

"Get out," he muttered, his voice still a half-snarl.

Christine, however, heard the faint note of hopelessness behind his words, and looked up at him, opening her mouth to speak.

He would not let her, however.

"_Damn_ it, woman… you… _Pandora_… _get out!_"

Christine did not wait for him to shout at her again. She could not take any more – she ran.

When, a moment later, he heard his front door slam behind her, he at last covered his ruined face with his hand, clenching his teeth against the horrific sound… a sound that signified that he had lost yet again… lost before he had even begun.

His last hope… ruined… by simple carelessness.

And this time he had no mirrors to break.

* * *

A/N: Ouch.

PLEASE let me know what you think! Reviews are very very good. :D

Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	22. Unusual Way

A/N: HAHA!!! Success! Ok, am I brilliant, or am I brilliant? I worked around my broken computer issues to get you guys this chapter on time!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter: queen-of-swing, Nyasia A. Maire, poetzproblem, Avatarded, Timeflies (thanks for all the catch-up, too!), LonesomeGurlAngelofDeath, akutenshi666, HughloverX, Elphie89, and laal ratty. You guys are wonderful!!!

And now, the fruits of all my ingenious thinking... a... very short... chapter. looks puzzled Blast it. Ah well... sorry, guys. Ch 23 is nice and long, to make up for the shortness of this one. Enjoy!

* * *

_Chapter 22: Unusual Way  
4th June 1881_

Christine ran towards home as fast as her legs could carry her, feeling as though someone were jabbing a knife between her ribs with each stride. Finally she stumbled and fell, landing sprawled on the ground with a sharp cry and a thud. For a very long time, she simply lay where she had fallen, attempting to catch her breath, wincing as the sharp cramping feeling continued to gnaw at her. But each time she nearly succeeded in filling her lungs, a new sob would shake her, and she would be just as breathless as before. Through it all, Erik's words resounded hatefully in her head, making her cry all the harder; _"Damn it, woman… you… Pandora… get out!"_

What had happened to the eloquent, gentle man she had known? The man she had gotten to know seemingly so well, the man who had so kindly taught her so much… the man who… _cared_ for her? She understood why he had been upset… but why had he accused her of spying on him? Why had he _raged_ at her? His face was terrible, yes… but it was his fury that had truly petrified her. Why had he lost control?

Why had he not listened when she tried to apologize?

She had never been so frightened by one person… as much as a part of her now insisted that she needn't have been so scared, that Erik would never harm her, she had not believed it then, standing in his hallway and being nearly assaulted by his anger. She had no doubt that he might have hurt her then… regretted it later, perhaps, but even so…

Her thoughts drifted back to the face beneath the mask. Was that the reason he was all alone, hidden from the world… Had he shut himself away there because of his face? God only knew what sort of life the poor man had known…

Why had he chosen her, then?

What made her so special, that he had deigned to step out of his solitary world and share his musical gift with her, and her alone? Why had he thought she could see past that?

Because she had… for a time. She had never asked about his mask, although such things would normally make her madly curious. Perhaps she instinctively knew that such a question would drive him away from her… perhaps she had subconsciously thought that whatever he was hiding ought to stay hidden, if he wanted it to. At first, he had always seemed so surprised when she had met his eyes honestly, instead of staring at his mask openly.

Whenever she had, however, she had found it nearly impossible to look away. Even now that she knew the distorted face beneath the mask, his steel-grey eyes still held the same power over her…

She shut her eyes and curled her head in towards her shoulder at the thought, trying to clear her mind and not succeeding. Too many thoughts, too many mixed emotions still jostled for the front-most position in her head; fear fought with pity, with compassion, for dominance just as her memories of Erik from before that night clashed so horribly with what had just happened.

Finally, she pushed herself up into a sitting position, wiping at her reddened eyes with the back of her hand. She tried to think straight, logically, but no logical thoughts would come… just Erik's face as he had roared at her to get out…

Was she imagining it now, in the aftermath, or had there been anguish in his furious tone?

She had to go back. She had to go back, find him, and apologize… she hadn't meant to hurt him; she had just been so… so shocked… and he had terrified her with his raging… she had to apologize, explain…

Christine actually began to get to her feet and turn back when she came to her senses. Yes, she did need to do all of those things, but if she went back then, when so little time had passed and she was so clearly extremely upset, when she could barely think clearly and might possibly dissolve into terror again at a moment's notice… if she went back now, and he saw her still so afraid, it would not matter what she said to him. He would not have had the chance to calm down at all… if he saw her like that again, who knew what he might be driven to. No doubt he would lose control again… and this time, it was not certain that she could bring him back.

No, she had to wait… she had to give him some time. He would not forgive her for this, not now, nor would he forget… but perhaps she could make him understand in time…

At the very least, she had to try, even if it was simply for her own peace of mind.

It was only a question of being brave enough to face him again at all… especially later, when she would hopefully have collected her thoughts and straightened them out, when she had come to some sort of conclusion about that terrifying moment… And whether or not she would lose her nerve with time.

But there was nothing to be done about it now. Now, she could only return home again, still in the hope that no one would discover her slipping in. She got to her feet and began to walk towards the village again, wondering if it had really been just that night that she had had to comfort her father during his nightmare…

It felt like several lifetimes ago.

Everything seemed different now, or was she simply more alert? Was she simply scared? She didn't know… couldn't say. But nothing seemed definite any more… what was truth and what was lies? There was a fine line somewhere… and she thought she had just crossed it.

Christine thought that sleep would never come to her that night, but the moment her head hit the pillow she sunk into the realm of dreams, dreams where she was always reaching, always trying, always pulling something… someone?... through the darkness…

And never quite succeeding…

* * *

A/N: So, there you have it! I told ya Christine would come to her senses!

Now, hopefully things'll be up and running by the time of next week's update, but if they're not, I can probably use this same method, so fear not!

Reviews? Please?

Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	23. One Step Forward

A/N: Happy Friday, all! My computer's still broken, bother it, but I think by next week's post I'll be sending this via my spiffy new computer!!! FLATSCREEN, YES!

Ahem. Anyway, I think was being very annoying this past week, not sending alerts, I believe. Or just generally being broken. So, thanks to those who reviewed anyway! That would be Timeflies, The-Lonely-Child, Avatarded, Animekitty47, Nyasia A. Maire, GuTTerArT, and HughloverX. Thanks, guys!

This chapter is nice and long to make up for the shortness of last week's. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 23: One Step Forward  
_6th June 1881_

Erik hunched up his shoulders under the long black cloak he wore in spite of the heat of summer, the brim of his hat pulled down as low as possible over the right side of his face. He had been almost neurotic about his mask ever since… since the other night. Once he had retrieved it, he had not taken it off even for the briefest of seconds… even to sleep.

Now, perhaps, he was being idiotic, but hadn't his utter stupidity gotten him into that whole mess to begin with? Whatever the case, it didn't matter – he had to see her one last time. He knew she would not return to him… if he did not seek her out, he would never see her again. Of course, he had no intention of speaking with her… no intention of inviting her horrified stare once again… he just… just had to see her.

As he neared the village, he heard something that nearly made him turn around: the distant sound of a violin playing… and it was soon joined by a voice he knew as well as his own.

_"Heaven and earth do sleep  
Still in the dark so deep  
I will the darkness sweep…"_

As he stood there, listening to her sweet voice soar so far away, he could not help but sink back into his black mood… _he_ had given her music, _he_ had taught her everything he knew… it was because of _him_ that she was able to sing there now… all because of _him_!

He had taught her to fly… he had given her _everything_… and she had repaid him in a way he had thought he was immune to… with fear… with disgust. She had not screamed, had not fainted, like many had, but… the terror in her eyes had been more than enough.

The moment she had left, he felt as though he had lost his mind. He had wanted to smash something, destroy something, anything… in a moment of reckless rage, he had found the song he had written for her, played for her… he had torn it up, thrown the pieces into the fire with a satisfied snarl… for the briefest moment, he had wanted to do more than rage at her… he wanted her to feel some of the torment, some of the pain he had experienced…

It had been then that he had stopped himself. He had forcibly wrenched himself out of his downward spiral before he had the chance to act on any of his violent impulses… what was he thinking? He could never harm Christine… the very idea made him sick. He had not just given his music to her… she had returned his gift with her kindness. She had not stared until that moment; she had been compassionate to him. She had treated him as a friend… she had been a rare moment of light in his black existence. He had to remember that, and not the horror that had ended his dim hope.

Again, as he stood out in a field near Perros, listening to her sing in the distance, he reminded himself of that. His fists uncurled and he tried to make himself relax.

One last glimpse… and now one last song… and he would shut himself up. It was the end of another ghost's legend… and there would not be another.

Christine's song continued as he walked on, sweet and bright, her voice soaring over the pitches…

_"I am the dawn, I'm the new day begun  
I bring you the morning, I bring you the sun  
I hold back the night and I open the skies  
I give light to the world, I give sight to your eyes  
From the first of all time, until time is undone  
Forever and ever and ever and ever…"_

Finally, Erik reached the town and, instead of perching on the same rooftop as the last time he had watched her performance, he dared to edge in closer until he was right behind Christine and her family, hidden carefully in the shadowy space between two buildings. She wasn't singing then, just standing beside her father as he played, smiling.

Christine tapped her foot along with the beat as her father moved into a more lively song, her smile widening at Vivienne's obvious delight that her uncle was playing her favorite song. She dragged Garran to his feet and the two began to dance wildly, mostly with Viv pulling her twin around in dizzying circles.

At a sudden tap on her shoulder, Christine turned to see Lucien looking mischievously at her.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, gesturing to his carousing siblings.

"Lucien!" Christine said with a laugh, but then let out a squeak of surprise as her cousin pulled her into an ungainly, comical waltz, both of them laughing hysterically at the sheer silliness.

In the alleyway, however, someone did not see it as silly at all. Someone did not know that it was simply two family members enjoying a spontaneous moment.

Angrily, Erik slid back into the shadows and slunk away from the village. His last look had held more than he'd wanted to see.

* * *

It was very odd to make the trip to Erik's house in daylight. The rest of her family was down by the ocean, helping the twins race each other to make a taller sandcastle than the other. She had asked her father if she could go for a walk on her own, and he had agreed, although only after she had promised to be home well before dark.

But she had thought that perhaps what she had to do now would be easier when it was still light out… at least, so she hoped.

The trees hiding Erik's house came into view far too soon… she had not finished working out what she wanted to say! Then again, all preparation would probably fly out the window once she was face-to-face with him once again… so she squared her shoulders and marched up to his home. Hoping that he was home and that he would listen to her, she knocked hard on the front door, not daring to enter unannounced again.

Akilah heard it first. Her soft white ears pricked upwards at the sound of the rapping on the door, and when Erik, who was sitting unnaturally still at the piano, his head bowed into his chest and his hands balled up in tight fists, did nothing to stop the strange noise, she got to her feet, stretched, and trotted off. She stopped a little way from the door and sat down on the hall rug, meowing loudly.

That finally got Erik's attention. He followed her out just in time to hear another sharp tapping at the door, and when he looked up, he could see the top of Christine's head through the small glass panes in the door.

_What was she doing back here?_ he thought, standing as though frozen.

Akilah meowed at him, sharp and irritated this time, and inclined her head towards the door, clearly telling him to get on with it and stop feeling sorry for himself.

Compulsively, Erik reached up to make sure that his mask was on securely before reluctantly reaching for the door handle and slowly pulling it open.

Christine looked up, almost surprised to see him standing in the hallway, opening the door for her. She had half-expected him to ignore her.

"Erik… hello," she fumbled. _Very smooth, Christine.  
_  
He smiled wryly at her and bowed her inside, directing her back into the music room. It was almost like her normal visits to Erik's home… except that the tension was so thick she felt she might have reached out and touched it… and Erik had yet to say a word.

"So, what brings you here, Mademoiselle Daaé?" Erik finally snapped, after a moment of tense silence. His eyes were distinctly cold as he scowled down at her. "Have you tired of your new friend already? Or just come back to stare some more?"

"What?" Christine answered, genuinely confused. She may have expected hostility, but accusations she didn't understand… "I don't know what you're talking about… please, Erik, I just…"

"Your boy. I saw you dancing with him this afternoon. How long have you been seeing him, then?"

"Seeing? What?" Christine shook her head vigorously. "Erik, Lucien is my cousin!"

He was genuinely surprised to hear that, but now, thinking back, it did make sense… but he was not in the mood to give her any small victory.

"Of course he is, Mademoiselle…"

"Erik, stop it! My name is Christine, remember? I didn't even think you knew my last name!"

"It is surprising what a ghost can find out, is it not?" he replied scathingly.

Christine only stared at him in disbelief.

"What happened to the man I knew?" she queried softly.

"Why did you come back, Christine?" Erik threw back, almost shouting.

"I came to apologize! But obviously you don't want to hear it!"

"Apologize for what?"

"For not making my presence clearer… I should not have…"

"Should not have barged into your worst nightmare?"

"No! I didn't mean to hurt you – I had only come to apologize for being late. My father was… But I made a mess of things, and obviously it's upset you very much, and I'm sorry."

"I am not," Erik growled quietly, "_upset._"

Christine laughed at that, but it was a harsh, sarcastic laugh… he didn't like the sound coming from her.

They simply stared at each other for a long moment after that, neither willing to back down. The silent contest of wills broke when Erik spoke again.

"All right, you've said your piece. You've accomplished what you came for… now go home, Christine."

Christine seemed to whither then at his obvious lack of any forgiveness or understanding.

"I truly am sorry, Erik… if you hadn't shouted at me, I wouldn't have been so frightened… I…"

"That's enough, Christine! Just go… Go back to your life in the daylight and let a monster wallow in his mistakes. I had some manner of peace before you appeared."

Christine gasped at his harsh words as he turned away from her and even started to walk away.

"You think my life has been perfect?" she said, almost sobbed. "I came here because my mother was killed, Erik!" She saw him wince a little at that, but she continued. "I was _miserable_ when I came here… and nothing more than a sniveling child content to sulk in my own grief. You helped me to move on… you gave me hope again, and taught me so much." He was still looking away, and it was beginning to irritate her. "I don't know what happened to the man I knew, but I won't give him up without a fight… I'm sorry, Erik, truly I am. I wish I could not have looked so terrified… Erik! Could you please at least _pretend_ you're listening to me?"

"What would you have me do, Christine?" he snapped, whirling around and stepping towards her just as she moved closer to him.

The two of them stopped just before they collided, so close that Erik's nose almost hit Christine's forehead. They froze, both of them knowing how incredibly awkward the situation was, and yet neither knowing how to back out. Christine's eyes were fixed on his for a long time until she could no longer stand it, and she looked down, but still, her eyes found him right there… Raising her head again, as she decided that looking at him, rather than his stiff white shirtfront, would be best, she found that his eyes seemed to be roaming over her face…

Erik watched as Christine's cheeks slowly turned a delicate shade of pink, as she demurely dropped her warm brown eyes and then looked up again. Her expression was one of quiet surprise, from her wide eyes to her slightly parted lips… almost imperceptibly, Erik leaned down… not quite knowing what he planned to do. If it was possible, Christine's eyes widened even more, but then her eyelids fluttered and closed…

Another lingering moment, and Erik jerked himself away, turning sharply around again, quickly shaking his head to clear it.

"Christine, I… it is I who should apologize," he whispered.

After the shock of remembering how to breathe, Christine was able to answer him, albeit a little shakily.

"Erik…"

"No. I… I should not have lost control of my temper. It was not your fault… I was… careless."

Erik tensed at the sound of rustling fabric that meant she was coming closer to him. He felt her presence right beside him as she replied.

"I… I understand why you did."

Erik turned to look at her, his eyes coldly serious again.

"My… my face won't… just go away, Christine."

"I know," she replied quietly. "I was… more frightened of your anger than your face."

_Erik, you fool! _he thought, turning his head away from her once again. But Christine stayed beside him, perhaps not fully understanding his plight, but silently forgiving him all the same.

* * *

A/N: So, what did you think? It would have been nice had Akilah given somebody a push, eh?

The song is yet another Celtic Woman song, this time called "The Sky and the Dawn and the Sun." I adore that song, and I thought the light imagery was perfect for this chappie.

I'm going on vacation week after next, and what with the new computer, it might be difficult to post on Friday, since I'm leaving Saturday. I'll see how it goes and I'll do my best to get one up - since leaving you for two weeks would just be mean - but I just wanted to warn you ahead of time.

Thanks for reading! PLEASE review? --Kyrie


	24. Quiet Stirrings

A/N: Happy (almost, so I'm half an hour early) Friday, all! Still no new computer - it's supposed to come next week... while I'm on vacation. headdesk Oh, but this IS fun.

Still, it means I can post this easily. I'm so glad you all enjoyed the last chapter so much!!! Thanks to queen-of-swing, HughloverX, Timeflies, GuTTerArT, The-Lonely-Child, Sno-Chan, Anime-kitty47, poetzproblem, Avatarded, Nyasia A. Maire, Elphie89, cylobaby, and rappleyea for their lovely reviews!!!

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as well! Angst ahoy!

* * *

Chapter 24: Quiet Stirrings

_6th June 1881_

Christine politely declined Erik's offer to see her home.

"It's light out still, and my father will be watching for me. I must go, though; I promised to be back well before dark."

Erik had only nodded. At another time he might have been offended, but now he battled between an urge to make absolutely certain that she was safe and the relief that she was leaving him to his unsettled thoughts. It was the latter feeling that won in the end; after all, the walk back to her aunt and uncle's house was hardly the same feat as a walk on the streets of Paris at this hour of the day.

Christine was not blind, and she had quickly noted that the short time they'd spent together – at least, once they'd finished shouting at each other – was still tense and mainly silent. Erik was thoroughly lost in thought and whether it had been getting dark or not, it was best she left him to his brooding. Without another word, she made her way over to the door to let herself out.

Erik looked up just in time to see her give him a dazzling smile before slipping away, but she stayed there just long enough to make his eyes widen slightly in surprise… He stayed very still, feeling almost as though someone had dropped a load of bricks onto him, until he judged her to be well out of earshot, and then slammed the side of his fist into the wall with a yell. Leaning heavily against the wall, even squashing the top of his head against the hard surface, he forced himself to breathe evenly, but to little effect.

_Damn, damn, damn, damn!_ he thought angrily. This could not be happening to him; he had ruled out the possibility of it long, long ago… he was immune to this, he was a ghost! He was a monster… and the world had taught him, had shown him from the cradle, that monsters did not feel…

Least of all love…

Try as he might, he could not shake the image of her warm smile from his mind. The quiet understanding she had shown him that afternoon was more kindness than he could ever remember receiving in his life… And she had told him of how much she valued his lessons, with truth in her words. No one had ever shown him that kind of respect before…

And then… God, what had happened then? It was downright alarming to be so close to her… and… _bloody hell_… had he… did he almost… _kiss her_? Damn it all, but he _had_ lost his mind!

For one brief moment, he allowed his mind to travel down a path that before had been simply passed by, unnoticed and uncared about, but now seemed utterly forbidden… For just a moment, he let himself wonder what it would be like to kiss her, to hold her, to touch her…

With a frustrated sort of yelp, he wrenched himself away from the wall and began furiously pacing. Akilah trotted over to him, giving a soft, concerned mrrow. She found that she could not sit in front of him, as he kept moving back and forth so fast, and after a minute of following him about she decided that it was much too dizzying. Instead, she curled up a safe distance from his feet and watched his agitated movements through narrowed eyes. He was acting rather odd lately. Maybe if she played with his shoelace she could distract him? But no, she really didn't fancy getting trodden on by accident. Let him wear himself out by going round and round; it was fine with her.

There had to be something he could do about this. He could not fall in love with Christine… curse it, she was his student! She had to be at least twenty years younger than him, it was completely wrong of him to even begin to imagine the merest thought of loving her…

And besides, she was an angel and he a ghost. This was no beauty and the beast fairytale… and reality was cruel.

Would she trust him now that he had so idiotically shown her just how monstrous he could be? What if she discovered that even then he had been holding himself back? There was far more to his temper… for the first time in his life, he truly thought of himself as a murderer. He had condemned men just as much as they had him, which until now he had thought of fair payment… Christine changed everything.

Erik finally stopped pacing and stood still, feeling completely drained, and not from his frantic circling. Akilah got up and rubbed comfortingly against his leg, and he bent down to absently scratch her ears.

He would simply have to try harder than usual not to show his emotions. After all, he had always done so before – why should now be any different? And perhaps if he quelled his irrational feelings long enough, they would cease to plague him entirely.

* * *

"Papa! I'm back!" Christine called softly as she stepped into the door and crossed over to the stairwell, quick to let her father know she had returned on time. But she could hear him tuning his violin upstairs, and knew that it would be best not to disturb him for at least an hour. She smiled knowingly at just how easy it was to lose oneself in music…

"There you are, Christine. _Maman_ will be pleased, you're back just in time for supper."

Christine looked up to find Lucien sitting in the room she'd just entered, and she smiled and sat down opposite him.

"Who won the sandcastle competition?"

"Well, Viv _was_ winning, but hers fell over right at the very end, so Garran won by default.

"Poor Viv," Christine replied, laughing at the thought of a Leaning Tower of Sand.

"So, who were you sneaking off to meet?"

"Lucien!" Christine cried, able to keep the panic out of her voice, but she saw quickly that he was teasing her. "Well, someone completely unsavory of course," she added, mirroring his mischievous smirk.

"Naturally, knowing you, my dear cousin. Well, you remind this Monsieur so-and-so that he'll have me to deal with, all right?"

"I shall be sure to tell him, and he will quite probably come and carry me off in the middle of the night so he won't have to put up with nosy cousins."

They both burst out laughing then, but Christine had to keep hers from sounding stilted. Lucien might think he was only teasing, but she knew that if he were ever to learn about Erik, the consequences might very well prove disastrous. And it wasn't even as though…

Christine suddenly stopped laughing.

"Christine? Are you all right?" Lucien asked, concerned at the sudden look of… _astonishment_ on her face.

"I'm fine. I just… remembered that I forgot to do something. If you would excuse me…"

Quickly, she got up and fled upstairs to her attic room, sitting down faster than she had intended on her makeshift window seat and leaning back with a thud against the wall of the little alcove. Dazedly, she thought about the ridiculous scenario she and Lucien had just created… but was her "lover" really all that fictional?

Heat rose rapidly in her cheeks as her mind raced back to Erik's house, to that incredibly awkward moment when they had nearly walked straight into each other… had nearly _kissed_…

Had Erik somehow fallen in love with her?

Or, more pressing still, was _she_ in love with _him_?

No, of course not… he was her teacher! He was her good friend, he was kind to her. Erik was the only real friend she had made there; of course she cared for him! But now she was just being ridiculous…

Then why were his eyes so utterly captivating?

_You're just being silly. Stop your blushing, Christine, and go back to talking with Lucien. He must think you're insane by now._

But she found that she could not bring herself to do it.

* * *

_10th June 1881_

Over the past few days, Christine had taken to going on long walks on her own, and not necessarily to Erik's house. But she felt somehow less guilty if she set up a pattern like that and could easily visit Erik during the day without anyone worrying. And she always was sure to return home well before dark.

The day before, however, she had come back along a walk that overlooked the beach, and had groaned at the sight of the huge, fluffy thunderclouds slowly rolling towards the coast, a sure sign of a heavy rainstorm. Sure enough, it was raining cats and dogs that day. She had been planning on going to see Erik that afternoon! Well, now she couldn't, not unless she wanted to get drenched and attract an awful lot of attention.

Then again, after thinking of one of Erik's rare smiles, getting wet would be quite worth it…

She might have gone on to be completely irrational and try it had Vivienne not called softly up the stairs.

"Christine?" she asked, sounding oddly small and pitiful.

"Viv? You can come up, it's all right… is something the matter?"

Vivienne tramped up the stairs, looking thoroughly miserable, both emotionally and otherwise. She was positively soaked; her normally fluffy, wavy brown hair was sodden and limp; the hem of her dress – which was now so wet that the color was nearly indistinguishable – was dripping onto the floor, and though Christine could tell she'd done her best, she hadn't been fully able to scrape all of the mud off her shoes.

"You look a sight! Have you been swimming?" she teased.

The corners of her younger cousin's mouth twitched upwards, but she still looked so unhappy.

"The barn's flooded a bit, and Lucien and Garran and Papa won't let me help them, not even mind the horses while they fix the problem. Without someone to watch him, Mer will roll in all that mud, tether or no tether, and then it'll be near impossible to get it all out of his coat! And… oh, Christine, they could have at least been nice about… about _dismissing_ me!" Her voice rose to a wail at the end of her tirade.

"I'm sure that with the three of them in that tiny little shed, there's not enough room for you to help them," Christine rationalized.

"That's not what Garran said! He just said I was getting in the way and wasn't wanted… he's been so cross today, I don't know why! But he's never snapped at me like that… and Papa just agreed with him!"

"Oh, Viv… it's all right. It's not unusual for men to want to keep us out of jobs like that, and everyone will expect you to behave properly now that you're older, and not be mucking about in stables."

"But what fun is that! And Garran…"

"I know it's no fun, Vivienne, but there isn't much way around it. We have to come up with our own fun, that doesn't involve mud."

Viv looked down at her shoes, then back up at Christine, a thoroughly sheepish expression on her face. Christine only laughed.

"Come on, let's get you dried off. And then…" she added as she put a hand on her cousin's damp shoulder and began to walk down the stairs just behind her, "and then you can help me with something."

"What can I help with?" Vivienne responded, veritably lighting up.

"Tell me everything you know about the Ghost."

* * *

A/N: So, what did you think?

For those of you who feel that Akilah let them down last chapter, I have written a "fluffy" oneshot from her perspective on a slightly different take on the "kiss" in chapter 23. It will be up in about five minutes. Please go take a look! Hopefully it'll tide you over while I'm away.

Thanks for reading! PLEASE review? --Kyrie


	25. Secrets, Secrets, Are No Fun

A/N: I'm baaack!!! Did ya miss me? Vacation was a lot of fun, but I am glad to be back and have access to a computer.

So, here is your update for this week. Next week's will be the last before I have to go back to school. sigh

Thanks so much to Nyasia A. Maire, queen-of-swing, guTTerArT, Avatarded, The-Lonely-Child, Animekitty47, and Timeflies for their lovely reviews! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

Chapter 25: Secrets, Secrets, Are No Fun

_10th June 1881_

"He looks like a fine gentleman, right, all well dressed, but all in black! Except for that white mask… nobody knows what's under that mask, but people say that there was an accident and that's why he was killed and he was disfigured because of it!"

Christine nodded to show that she was listening, but in truth she was trying not to blush. She knew what lay beneath the mask… and it was certainly disfigured… she wondered what had happened to him… had he been injured? Oh, God, she hoped not…

She and her cousin were sitting together on Christine's bed, cross-legged, and Viv was having the time of her life telling Christine every little detail she knew about this ghost. While not exactly the village rumor-monger – apparently, that post belonged to one Mallory, whom Christine, luckily, had not met – Viv tended to hear things whenever she went into town, and she somehow could remember each little detail.

"… And they say his violin's enchanted, too, and if anybody was to steal it, they could play spectacularly on it, but they'd be cursed too! So it's not really worth it, I suppose… But he's not the kind to let anybody get at his things. No one knows where he… resides… or where he comes from or why he's haunting around here. And most people never see him at all, only hear him! Lucien saw him once… I don't think I've ever seen him so white… but then, he scares most people."

Christine couldn't help but chuckle at that. He had terrified her once, yes, but when he wasn't raging at her, he was not frightening in the least… quite the contrary, in fact…

"I reckon they've got a right to be scared, Christine! This isn't any sort of ancient legend, he's really there! And I've heard he isn't very nice when he gets crossed…"

"Oh?" Christine asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mmm-hmmm… there's this one story I heard, a few years ago… There was a little group of travelers passing through, on their way to stop at the inn here. I don't know where they were from or where they were going… but it doesn't really matter… But those travelers came into town one morning looking like they'd seen the devil himself! Lucien was at the inn's tavern with them when they explained… they said that some kind of demon, something that looked like a man all in black, but with a white mask, had attacked them during the night. Two of the men were wounded, though not too badly, they were lucky… but one of them was dead! They say the ghost just _looked_ at him – just flicked his hand out towards the man and _looked_ at him, and the man's _head_ was jerked from his shoulders, just like that! Must've made an awful mess… Yes, I know, it's alarming, isn't it?"

Luckily, Vivienne seemed to be misinterpreting Christine's startled look as one of fright. It was a rather alarming tale, truth be told… Christine had been half-expecting to hear some whoppers when she had asked her cousin for the information, but she hadn't been expecting anything quite this… ridiculous! The thought of Erik doing that to someone… it was ludicrous! She wasn't naïve enough to believe that he had never harmed anyone in his life; his rage at her that day had shown her just how fierce his temper could be. But _killing_ someone? These villagers must have had a few too many drinks one rainy night…

Vivienne, oblivious to her cousin's less-than-convinced thoughts, continued on.

"And there was that time he let all that wood loose too… I was there for this one! _Maman_ and I were out in the marketplace, I was helping her carry baskets, and I remember, she'd given me the eggs, so I was being extra careful. And suddenly from behind me there was this great crash and a scream and I turned around too fast to see what was going on and some of the eggs fell out… but I wasn't the only one dropping things! There was a cart about halfway down that had been piled up with firewood, much more than there should have been in there, it looked like, and the poor old cart horse was so skinny, I don't know how he pulled it all! But somebody had torn the netting that kept all the wood in the cart! It all tumbled out and the cart even overturned and somebody got trapped underneath all the wood! They were all right afterwards, but it was so scary! And then somebody else screamed, they were carrying on about the ghost… but by the time I saw where she was pointing to, he was gone…" she finished, sounding disappointed.

Christine listened to Vivienne talk about stories she'd heard for at least another half an hour before she said that she had heard all she'd wanted to and thanked her cousin.

"No trouble at all," Viv replied, grinning widely. "Why did you want to know?"

Curses. Christine had been fervently hoping that she wouldn't ask that… she could hardly say that she'd met this ghost, that he was no ghost at all, and that he was giving her singing lessons.

"I was just curious… I have a deadly curiosity, you know, it often gets the better of me…"

"Really?" Viv asked with a barely concealed giggle.

"Yes," Christine replied with a nod and a grin, and began to tell her cousin about the time when she had found out that it was _not_ good to roll anything of value, such as a vase, down stairs. She hadn't known then, at the age of five, that glass could break into so many tiny little pieces… or that it hurt if you touched it afterwards.

Vivienne was in gales of laughter by the end of this story, so much so that Christine's father poked his head up into the attic to make sure no one was being tortured. When Christine had explained what story she was telling, however, Frederek could not help but laugh as well. He was glad that his daughter's seemingly insatiable curiosity had been curbed as she had grown up…

* * *

_11th June 1881_

Sunlight was pouring through Christine's open window and onto her bed. Stretching with a soft moan, she rolled over, still half asleep. She was quite cozy there in her little bed, and from the tousled way it felt, she had a feeling she would not enjoy battling with her curly hair that morning, and so she rolled over again and curled up on her side, intending to spend at least another half-hour happily asleep.

She hadn't expected to find a stiff piece of paper sticking out from under her pillow to suddenly jab her in the shoulder.

Puzzled, she sat up with another stretch and a yawn, lazily rubbing her eyes before seeing to the offending piece of paper. Oddly enough, it was a sealed envelope… a note? Stuck under her pillow? But by who? When? _How_?

She turned the envelope over, and once she saw her name written there, she realized that she should have known all along. She would have recognized Erik's handwriting anywhere; it was so distinctive, so choppy and yet so full of little flourishes…

Why had Erik put a note under her pillow? Surely he could have spoken to her face-to-face… what could be so urgent that he couldn't wait until he next saw her to tell her? Had something happened to him?

With a shake of her head, she put that thought out of her mind and turned to other questions…

Why had he come into her room again? She looked instantly to the window, which was wide open once again, and shook her head. Had he come when she was asleep? It had to have been then, since she had not gone out all of the day before due to the torrential rain… so, once again, he had come into her room while she was asleep…

Why did her spine tingle so at the thought?

It was useless trying to find answers to all her questions at once – perhaps his note would elaborate on some of them… Carefully, she opened the crisp parchment envelope and pulled out the note from inside. She unfolded it and smoothed it out, and then began to read.

_Christine,_

I was unsure of how to contact you yesterday, as it was raining so hard. I hope you are not offended or worried by my leaving this note for you… I assure you, no one saw me coming or going. You need not fear of my being discovered; I am, after all, a seasoned ghost. I simply wanted to let you know that, if you wish, I would be glad to continue your lessons in my home. The time of these lessons is of little consequence to me; my home is open to you.

Again, I apologize for my behavior a few days previously and hope that you will wish to continue your lessons, as you were making wonderful progress.

Erik

Once she had finished reading, Christine had to go back and look through it again. The letter simply didn't seem much like Erik… it spoke of his inherent formality, but she somehow couldn't imagine him telling her in person that he hoped that she would continue to study with him… did he really think that she still had not forgiven him, even though she said she had? She had meant it!

And what had he meant about being a seasoned ghost?

Christine's ever-unappeasable curiosity was roused once again. It seemed that it was time for another visit to Erik's music room.

* * *

A/N: I know, no Erik. I'm sorry. He'll be back next chapter.

Well, what do you think? Please review!!!

Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	26. Awkward Silences

A/N: Hello all! Happy Friday! Sadly, it's the last Friday before I go back to school... sob I return on Monday. Ohboy.

small voice Only six reviews? sniff I feel unloved now.

Thanks very much to the people who did review: Timeflies, Avatarded, Animekitty47, The-Lonely-Child, Songstressgirl07, and akutenshi666.

Guess what??? This is not only the last update before school, but the first update on my SPIFFY NEW COMPUTER!!! Yay.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 26: Awkward Silences

_11th June 1881_

At about one in the afternoon, Erik happened to look out the window that was closest to Perros and Christine… and sure enough, he saw her coming through the trees nearby. He ought to have known that she would come that day; after all, he had slipped that note into her room… but he had halfway hoped that he would have more time to steel himself against seeing her again.

He could not let her know what he thought about her. She could not possibly be anything but horrified if she knew that a monster with an uncontrollable temper loved her. Whatever he did, Erik had to be careful to remain passive and calm… the way he always had before.

Somehow, he had a feeling that today would not be the same. 

"Erik?" she called – loudly, he noted, and he got up to find her poking her head around the door. "Hello," she said when she saw him, smiling.

"Good afternoon, Christine," he said cordially. _Show her nothing_…

It was going to be far harder than he had ever anticipated. He had to force himself not to pay any attention to her warm smile and bright eyes. She seemed so _happy_ to see him!

"Erik, why did you write that note for me? Of course I would like to continue lessons with you! Why would you think otherwise?"

Erik remained silent; he thought she already knew the answer to that. Her glowing smile faded slightly when she next spoke, and he nearly sighed audibly with relief.

"If it's… your temper… you know I understand why you were so angry."

_Curse you, Christine, you're making this so difficult_! Erik thought irritatedly, unobtrusively curling one hand into a fist, letting his fingernails bite into his palm. He extended his other hand towards the music room and allowed himself a small smile.

"After you," he said softly.

Christine smiled at him as she walked past, but she could not help but think there was something extremely forced about his actions. What was going on? Had he not truly accepted her apology? Had he hoped that she would not come back?

But why go to the trouble of sending her that note, then?

"Erik, you do know that you are unfathomable, right?" she said as she took her customary place beside the piano and he sat down and pulled the bench into place.

"I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea of what you're talking about, my dear," he responded calmly, although inwardly he wasn't sure whether or not that this was a good thing. Did that mean that he was succeeding in his venture to seem passive, or that he wasn't acting normally?

He began playing simple triads and arpeggios to warm her up, without consequence. Although her voice was just as angelic as always, in such a simplified setting he found it had very little effect on him. It also allowed him to remain silent, unless he was giving her a correction.

Once he deemed her sufficiently prepared, Christine asked if they could begin where they had left off, and he nodded. He kept his eyes fixedly on the rigid black-and-white keys as she bent to retrieve a particular piece of music, but the moment she set it on the piano in front of him, he had to quickly stop himself from groaning audibly. He had forgotten that he had just started teaching her opera… and that he had started her out with _Deh vieni, non tardar_.

Cursing inwardly, he played the introduction, half-hoping that she would have forgotten it and he could suggest a safer piece. But her voice came in clear and strong and right on cue… and at that moment he tensed his shoulders as though bracing himself for a physical blow.

"_Qui mormora il ruscel, qui scherza l'aura  
Che col dolce susurro il cor ristaura  
Qui ridono i fioretti e l'erba e fresca_…"

Erik almost visibly winced as she began that verse of the song, each beautiful note reminding him forcibly of the meaning behind the sweet lyrics…

_Here the river murmurs and the light plays  
That restores the heart with sweet ripples  
Here, little flowers laugh and the grass is fresh_

He braced himself for the most painful line in the song "_Here, everything entices one to love's pleasures_," but it never came. He briefly looked up as she struggled through the line to she her lovely face contorted with frustration.

Erik did not know that Christine's fumble had not been entirely by accident. Although Italian was sometimes difficult for her to remember, she found that if she made a mistake, Erik would sing it back for her. It was worth even his disapproving stare to hear his voice.

This time, however, was different. True, he sang the next line, "_Ai piaceri d'amor qui tutto adesca_," correctly for her, but there was something wrong about his voice. It was not as rich and flowing as she remembered; it was stiff, stilted… forced.

Something was definitely wrong. She knew it, and it worried her, so much so that she faltered through the rest of the song, her final note turning out rather less than spectacular. Erik played a simple chord to end it and turned to look at her, his typical searching, disappointed stare, but she was staring, puzzled, right back.

"Erik? Is something wrong? Your voice… it doesn't sound right today."

He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Oh?" he asked stiffly.

Christine shook her hands, twisting her hands together as she tried to explain, not looking at him.

"It… you sound… constrained. Are you all right?" she asked, finally looking up again, eyeing him concernedly.

"I'm fine, thank you, Christine," he said softly. _Damn!_ He ought to have known not to trust his voice… it always had been and always would be far too expressive for his liking. He dared to look up and meet her warm brown eyes, now staring at him quizzically. Those ever-questioning eyes would be his undoing if he wasn't careful… he looked away. "Are _you_ quite all right? I must admit that the end of your song was somewhat lackluster. Is something the matter, or was it merely lack of practice?"

Christine dropped her eyes again. Why was his tone so distant and indifferent? Had she done something wrong? Somehow, whatever the reason, he didn't seem in the mood to hear that she had been worried about him, so she merely nodded.

"I see. Well, then, if that is the case, we have quite a lot of catching up to do, no?"

Christine nodded again, and let him pull out a few pieces she had done weeks before and run through them with her. It didn't matter; she still felt jumpy and confused. She had thought they had resolved everything! Was he still angry that she had seen his face? Did he not trust her at all now?

After about an hour of torture on both sides, Erik called a halt to the lesson, saying that they were both clearly having an off day. Christine felt it was far more than an off day; she simply didn't know what had happened to him. Hadn't he cared for her? At all?

Akilah jumped down from the armchair as Erik got up, running over and butting her head hard against Erik's ankle, trying to shove him forward.

"Keep out of this, you," Erik whispered sharply to her. Akilah withdrew a few paces, looking affronted.

"What was that?" Christine asked, hoping that maybe something would be cleared up.

"Nothing," Erik replied quickly, snapping his head up to look back at her.

Christine sighed heavily and shook her head.

"Erik…" she said softly, reaching out and putting her hand gently on his shoulder.

Her face fell when Erik jerked away from her touch as though he had been burned.

"I… I'll go now, then," she half-muttered. Erik said nothing, but he did force himself to look up at her and smile a little. Christine looked away sadly; why did he like the fact that she was leaving?

Akilah looked from Erik to Christine and then turned to follow her, as if to say that Christine was behaving in a normal, understandable, _sane_ way and that she was going with her. Christine laughed a little at the cat's intent to follow her, but informed Akilah that she had to stay there. The little cat flattened her ears back, looking affronted again.

Had Christine looked back as she was leaving, she would have seen Erik's hands shaking as he tried desperately to counter the effect of her compassion and her touch. It wasn't working. If only there was a bucket of cold water he could stick his head into for a few hours… that might do the trick.

* * *

That evening, once he'd had a few hours to relax himself, Erik could not help but think that he had to have been tormenting her that afternoon. She had seemed so terribly upset when she had left… at the very least, he could apologize, even if he could not explain.

And he would have to do better at keeping his distance, it seemed.

There had to be some way he could contact her without anyone else noticing… the sun had not quite set, perhaps he could find her outside somewhere. If that failed, he could wait until nightfall and sneak up to her attic bedroom again.

So – with a meow of approval from one very nosy cat – he set off, leaving his cloak draped over the arm of the sofa for once, but his customary hat still pulled down as far as possible over the right side of his face.

As he walked, he kept his hands jammed in his pockets – perhaps if she could not see his hands, he wouldn't give himself away. _Since when has it been so difficult for you to conceal your emotions, Erik? Why are you having such a hard time, and making such a bloody mess of it?_ But whatever the case, he could see the lights of Perros close by, and knew that he did have to apologize to her, whatever the consequences.

Suddenly, he heard a heavy footfall in front of him and looked straight ahead. There was another figure walking down the old footpath that led from the mainland road about half a mile away into town.Luckily, he was far enough ahead on the path that he didn't notice Erik, and he was looking at the ground as he walked along, looking tired. Even in the dim light, Erik could see that the man wore Persian clothing.

He realized that he had frozen, and quickly backpedaled away from the newcomer. _No… no, how… how did he come to be here? Damn it, no, this can't be happening, this is impossible, it's…_

It's happening. Dear God, it's happening. 

He would have recognized that figure anywhere. The fading light did nothing to conceal his foreign appearance from Erik, and this Persian man was not one so friendly as Nadir.

It was the boy from his nightmares… the Persian boy whose father had insulted Erik, and who Erik had then had killed… Somehow, God only knew how, he had found his way to _Perros_, of all places…

_Merde._

* * *

A/N: That's right, Erik, you're in trouble now! dun dun dun Things have definitely taken a turn for the worse...

Please review? Please, please, please??? I'd really like to know what you think... please?

Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	27. Wrath and Wanderings

A/N: Happy Friday, all! What is it about the first week of school that throws you a huge curveball? I've been back four days and already I'm feeling slightly overwhelmed... ohnoes. (sigh)

So, here is my therapy (or, you provide the therapy by reviewing. :D). Thanks very much to HughloverX, Songstressgirl07, Avatarded, poetzproblem, Nyasia A. Maire, Timeflies, Elphie89, aragornme, iamphantomgirl, The-Lonely-Child, akutenshi666, ladyAlyafaelyn, and laal ratty for their lovely reviews!!! (perhaps I ought to beg and leave cliffies more often, eh?)

Ack! I forgot to add Animekitty47 to my review list! So sorry, and thank you!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 27: Wrath and Wanderings 

_11__th__ June 1881_

Once Erik had regained control of his limbs and could move again, his first thought was to run like hell back to his home, and then pack up a few things and run again. But Christine's curiosity seemed to be catching; one question kept pounding at the front of his mind, and that was "how the bloody hell did he find me?" He simply had to find out.

Silently, he crept along the path behind Alasd Kahn, cursing the wretched boy every step of the way. Perhaps he was just passing through? Perhaps this was all merely some strange coincidence? It was even possible that it was not even him! It had been… fifteen years since he had been in Persia? Anything was possible…

_Wishful thinking, Erik. _

The Persian man – whether or not he was Alasd, he definitely was foreign – made his careful way down the path and into the village. Erik should have expected as much, but he carefully slunk along after the man, safely hidden in as much shadow as he could find. His destination turned out to be the village inn and tavern – so perhaps the man was merely passing through…

Erik waited until the street was clear, and then slipped into the building. As unobtrusively as he could, he made his way through the small crowd of people – who paid little attention to him, thankfully – and into a shadowy corner within earshot of the bar, where the man he had been following now sat. He had already procured something to drink, and he gulped it down all at once. Erik could not help but hope that it was somehow lethal.

"How long will you be wanting to stay here, then, sir?" the barkeep and owner of the inn asked kindly.

"A week or two, perhaps. I am not entirely sure," the foreign man replied, and more of Erik's irrational hopes slipped away. The man's French was rather heavily accented, and now in the stronger light of the inn he could see that the man bore a strong resemblance to the vizier… the boy's father. It had to be him…

"Oh? What brings you to Perros Guirec, then? Been on the road a long time?"

"Yes… four years now, I believe."

"Four years? Why's that?"

The man shot the barkeep an icy glare for being so nosy, but it seemed that he was aching to tell his story, perhaps to give the poor man a shock?

"Well, you see, I am… looking for someone. A Frenchman, who was employed in the Mazanderan for a time. Perhaps you know of him… His name was Erik; I believe he called himself Erik Boniface."

Erik, although there was no reason for the man to know either his name or the utterly ironic surname he had chosen for himself, was very relieved when the innkeeper shook his head.

"I'm afraid not, sir… Sorry, didn't catch your name there, monsieur…?"

"Kahn," the young man replied shortly, and the barman nodded.

"Rupert Ancelin, at your service, Monsieur Kahn. I hope you find The Setting Sun to your liking."

"I am sure I will." Kahn's reply was clipped. Either he did not enjoy talking with this man whatsoever, or he was impatient to get on with his tale.

"What were you saying, then? About this Erik fellow?"

"Are you quite certain you have not seen him? I was directed here…"  
"Directed?"

"Yes. You see, I have been searching for this man for some time – he murdered my father."

At the word _murdered_, the first floor of the inn grew very quiet, and several others turned to listen to this strange foreign man tell his peculiar tale.

"As his son, it was set to me to avenge him, and so as soon as I was of an age to do so, I began to search throughout Persia… but it was clear that he had left long ago. I nearly despaired then – for how is it possible to find one person in such a wide world?" there were a few nods and murmurs of agreement and confusion as to how he'd set about it. "I had known that he was a Frenchman, and thought it best to search for him on his own ground. I was lucky; Allah has favored me, it seems. No sooner had I set foot in Paris then I ran into an old daroga of the Mazanderan court… someone I knew, and someone who had known this Erik, and, I suspect, facilitated his escape from Persia. Well, he was surprised and pleased to see me – it was not hard to garner some information out of him, but in vain. He informed me that Erik had left Paris only a month previously.

"Of course, my quest could not be simple, but I nearly despaired of my task then. How was I to find him? But this amiable daroga also let slip that he had planned to follow the Seine north."

_Damn Nadir, how could he have simply tell just anyone all about him? _Erik thought angrily from his vantage point in the corner.

"I do suspect somehow that he knew just what I was up to, and knew no more of where the demon had gone than I did. Whatever the case, I set off along the course he had pointed out… and proceeded to get myself completely and utterly lost."

Several of the men burst out laughing then – how could one lose sight of a river? Kahn allowed them to laugh, although his eyes were dark as he surveyed his audience.

"Yes, yes, you may laugh, but getting lost served me far better than staying on course would have. It seemed that I was far behind him then, yes, but I was now passing through towns where they remembered him. Quite vividly, and with much fear in some places, and I knew I had found him. The man in the last village I stopped in directed me here… he said that you have a strange fixation with your town ghost."

"Ghost? But you were looking for a man, weren't you? Why would our small-town superstitions be of any use to you?"

"Gentleman! Have I neglected to mention that this was no ordinary man? When he was in Persia, he was often called the Living Corpse!"

Erik had heard enough. It seems that he was gifted with some of Alasd Kahn's luck as he ducked out of the inn, as they were all too intent on listening to the tale that they failed to notice that Kahn's quarry was sitting right under their very noses.

So, his nightmares had been genuine warnings, then. Alasd had found him, purely out of luck it seemed, but then, the Fates had been against Erik from the start. What difference did it make now?

He was out of town and heading slowly home when it struck him that it made an enormous difference now. How could he have forgotten? It had not only been him that that _boy _had taken his revenge on in those terrible dreams… the wretch had harmed an innocent cat and girl only because they were close to him…

_Oh, God, no! _

_Christine!_

He had to leave… he had to leave Perros immediately, he had to ensure her safety! If he had to run to the North Pole this time, he would, so long as she was not harmed because of him.

But something nagged at him as he tore across the uneven ground towards his home. Judging by her behavior that afternoon, she would not take kindly to being abandoned… he had to explain this to her somehow, there had to be some way to tell her…

_Oh, yes, that's right, Erik. Just go up to her and explain, why don't you? Say "Christine, have I ever told you about my past? No? Of course I didn't… well, for a few years, I was the resident Phantom of the Paris Opera! I dropped some scenery on people! Can you believe that? No? Well, how about this – before that, I was an assassin in Persia! Yes, I am telling the truth, dear. Why? Because I could, why not? And now a young man whose father I killed has somehow managed to find me and intends to take his revenge. So I'd better go, then!" Yes, she will take _very _well to that!_

Erik finally reached his home and sank down into his armchair, not knowing what to do. Not knowing _at all_, perhaps for the first time in his life… damn it, but he hated feeling so helpless!

He would have to explain to Christine somehow… he would find a way.

_But can you tear yourself away from her, Erik?_

That was one question he preferred to leave entirely unanswered.

* * *

A/N: So, did that explanation work for you? I hope so... 

Please let me know what you think!! Your feedback will help me write faster... hint hint

Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	28. Moonlight on Water

A/N: Happy Friday, all! You know, it's just plain WRONG when you've been back in school only two weeks and are already sick of it... (sigh)

But I know all you lovely reviewers will cheer me up. Thanks very much to Timeflies, Animekitty47, akutenshi666, Nyasia A. Maire, Songstressgirl07, ladyAlyafaelyn, aragornme, Avatarded, PhanPhicPhantastic, laal ratty, and The-Lonely-Child for their lovely reviews!!!

Enjoy! (wink)

* * *

Chapter 28: Moonlight on Water

_14__th__ June 1881_

For three days, Erik sat alone in his music room, trying to come up with some solution, trying to think of some way he could explain the situation to Christine, and some way he could leave her behind. Akilah had even abandoned him to his melancholy brooding, as she stayed contentedly curled up on her favorite chair.

But all of that solitude did him very little good. A solution simply would not come to mind, as they all seemed to boil down to one thing – somehow, he had to make Christine hate him so that she would not be hurt if he left. He did not think he could do it… Every time he arrived at that conclusion, he turned to fiddle with his piano. His elusive melody, the one he had never been able to quite pin down, had suddenly fallen at his feet, willing and complacent, and he had quickly snatched the opportunity and scrawled it down, melody, accompaniment, words and all.

Just beneath the surface of all his sullen thinking a great torrent of hot fury boiled. He longed to find the foolish young Persian man, find him and shake him so hard that his neck snapped… surely that would be the simplest way to deal with the wretched boy. But would announcing his presence cause something to go wrong? Would seeking him lead him to Christine, as his dreams had suggested? _Why _did he have Christine to worry about? If it was only himself, there would have been no reason to agonize! He was furious with Alasd for being dogged enough to hunt him down across an entire continent, but also at himself for inciting the whole mess with his murderous ways… and for falling in love with a girl who was only going to get herself caught up in his web of monstrosities…

And so he did nothing, waiting and trying to form some sort of plan, simply waiting for Christine to reappear and wondering whether her next visit would be an ordeal… or wonderful.

Christine, however, was not eager to go back. She did not understand why Erik had been so horrible to her the last time she'd seen him, and was tired of waiting for him to explain everything to her. She wanted to know who he was, she wanted to hear him say that the town gossip was nothing more than rumors; she needed to get him to tell her why he was suddenly so cold. Was it something she had done?

Finally, three days after her last, less-than-pleasant encounter with her teacher, she found that she could not sleep. Thoughts of Erik kept swirling uncontrollably through her mind, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not clear her head enough to slip into unconsciousness.

"I doubt I'll ever sleep again if I can't clear up this mess with him somehow," she mumbled irritably. "I'll have to go and see him…"

Once that thought was voiced, there was no turning back. She _missed _him, very much… and she would do anything to get the man she had known – and even loved – back.

Quietly, she dressed, ramming her boots on her feet and hastily pinning up her hair. She didn't care that she looked disheveled; it didn't matter. She darted down the stairs, perhaps more recklessly than she had grown accustomed to, but everyone was sound asleep, and the sudden desire to see Erik again, as quickly as possible, was irrepressible.

It wasn't until she had slipped out the door that she realized she was wrong.

She had forgotten to carefully shut the door behind her, the way she usually did, to keep it from banging shut. When she was a few steps out into the yard, she realized it and almost stopped, but it was too late… and she never heard the door bang shut. She thought perhaps that it had stayed open and turned to look. What she saw made her freeze immediately.

"Christine?" her father whispered, his crisp voice carrying easily in the still of the night. "What are you doing up – and out – at this hour?" He regarded his daughter with raised eyebrows as he slipped out to join her in the moon-washed yard and she tried not to look guilty.

"I… couldn't sleep, Papa. I wanted to walk around a little… maybe that would tire me out. It was so stuffy up in the attic, and I needed somewhere quiet and cool… to think…" she explained quickly. It was partially true – except for the implied solitude.

"The full moon seems to be affecting you," Frederek joked.

Christine forced a laugh.

"Why are you up?" she asked.

Her father merely shrugged. Christine frowned at him, suddenly coming up with a plan.

"Papa, you made _me _tell! Is anything wrong?"

Frederek smiled at his daughter, standing there in the yard, halfway between guilty and stubborn.

"I suppose I just couldn't sleep either… I must admit that I've been a little worried about you, Christine."

"Me? Worried… about me? Why?" she asked, her eyes widening in surprise.

"We've been here four months already, did you notice that?"

"Has it really been that long? No, I suppose I hadn't noticed…"

"Christine," her father cut in, coming down the steps to stand in the yard with her. "Have you made any friends at all here? Besides the La Granges, that is. You're so often by yourself these days."

"I… er, I don't suppose I have. But I can talk to Viv or Lucien or you if I need someone to…"

"Why don't you come into the village with me this weekend, Christine? I was going to play, and then meet a boy who is interested in taking lessons from me. What do you think?"

"Papa, performing isn't any way to make friends. Not when it's just the two of us, and everybody else is watching. No one is going to come up to me after I sing and simply offer to be my friend!" She laughed, trying to lighten the mood a little. It didn't work.

"Christine, you could _try_…"

Christine gave up attempting to placate him and decided to change the subject.

"Come on, Papa, you look tired, even if you insist you aren't."

Playfully, she shunted her father back up the stairs to his room, insisting that she was going back to bed as well, after she had cooled off outside for a moment. The wind was going the wrong way for the windows, she explained, demonstrating when she opened the window in his tiny room and a cool sea breeze poured in, tugging at her badly pinned hair.

"All right, all right, you win Christine. Good night."

"Good night, Papa," she said, slipping out of his room and down the stairs. As she began her trek to Erik's – careful not to cross in view of his window – she wondered vaguely if he had been dreaming about… that day again.

Whatever the case, he had nearly caught her, and she had lied profusely to get herself out of trouble and ensure that she'd still be able to sneak away. She had to explain to her father, she had to explain _somehow_. Perhaps his worries about her lack of friends might provide a nice opening… perhaps.

Not only would she have to tell her father, she'd have to explain to Erik. Something told her that this visit might prove even more disastrous than she could imagine.

* * *

Erik was more than surprised when he heard the sharp tap at his door that could only belong to one person. What was Christine doing, coming so late at night? It was far later than her lessons had ever been, and he had always accompanied her home…

And what was he going to say to her? He still had no way to explain…

But he couldn't simply ignore her. She would know that he was home and wait, stubborn thing that she was. Somehow, the thought of her annoyed scowl made him laugh.

When he opened the door, he thought perhaps ignoring her might have been a better plan of action. Why had she shown up on his doorstep so late at night, looking so utterly disheveled and slightly worried?

"Christine? Is something wrong?"

"No…" she replied as he stepped back to let her in, and she followed him into his music room. It was as though nothing had ever happened… "No, nothing's wrong, really; I just couldn't sleep. I… needed to see you." She dropped her eyes, her cheeks turning slightly pink. "And… my father nearly caught me. I was able to… to get away, but… Erik, I can't go on lying to him like this. It's just not right. I need to tell him."

Erik froze. She could _not _tell her father… there was no way she could explain to him that her music teacher was a murderer!

"No… Christine, you can't…"

"Why not? You must understand, I have to! He's my _father_, Erik, don't you see? It was wrong of me to lie to him from the beginning, I can't keep it up any longer! Surely there must be some way for me to explain you… some _normal _way."

"There is no such thing as a normal way to explain me," he muttered bitterly, but Christine heard.

"Yes there is. I'm certain we could think of something… it shouldn't be difficult to accidentally run into him, would it?"

"What?"

"Wait… Erik, I think I have it! Papa said that he wanted to go into town this weekend and play… if I went along and sang, and you came and watched… you could ask Papa if you could teach me!" Christine's eyes glowed with excitement at her plan. "It's perfect!"

Oh, no it's not! Erik thought, feeling slightly panicked. Surely she did not expect him to go through with that? Anyone paying half attention to him would recognize him as the town ghost… and a certain foreigner would recognize him instantly if he saw him. If he saw him there, with Christine… it could prove utterly disastrous.

"Christine, I…" he began, trying to sound forceful or even decisive. It didn't work. "I can't," he sighed.

"Of course you can! I know you don't like going into town… but it would only have to be just this once! Please, Erik…"

"Just once is enough for half the population of Perros to mark me as the infamous ghost," he said gruffly.

"Oh," Christine's excitement withered, and she frowned, her brows knitting together in concentration. "Well, if you wore something other than _black _they might not notice…"

Erik laughed, loudly and harshly.

"Oh, yes, they might not notice the mask glaring at them, eh? Very funny, my dear, absolutely hilarious."

Christine glared at him.

"I notice that you haven't provided any suggestions. Have you got a better idea?"

"You could simply continue to not tell him…"

"Erik! I told you, I have to tell him! He's my father… and I'm all he has left. There has to be some way…"

"…And I could conveniently disappear."

For a long moment, she was only able to stare at him. She thought that she knew exactly what he was saying, and afraid to find out.

"What do you mean, disappear?" she asked apprehensively.

"Just that. I mean disappear… go away, leave. I am a ghost, after all; I can disappear quite easily."

Shocked, she found that she could not reply. She only stared up at him in horror.

"But… but why? There's a way we could work this out, and you wouldn't have to leave… that would be a little _drastic_, don't you think?"

"No, I don't, as a matter of fact." He was determined to keep her out of danger, no matter what it cost him.

Christine was silent for another long moment, wondering whether or not she should plead with him to stay.

"Have I done something wrong?" she finally blurted out. "You were so cold the last time I saw you, and now you want to leave all together! Why? Erik, please don't leave! I…" She cut herself short there; based on his recent behavior, telling him how much she cared for him didn't seem wise.

"No, Christine," he said softly.

"Then why…" Abruptly, she stopped trying words and stepped closer to him, reaching out to him. But he shrugged her hand off his shoulder quickly, her innocent touch too much for him. Cursing himself as he did so, he turned away.

"That's what I mean, Erik… I must have done something to make you turn away every time I'm close to you," she whispered.

He collected himself as quickly as he could, turning back to face her.

"Christine… something has… come up, and I think it would be best for the both of us if I left. This… is rather a dangerous situation, and… and I cannot bear the thought of putting you in any sort of danger. It would also allow you to stop lying to your father and sneaking out… since there would be no need."

"What's happened?" Christine asked immediately, sounding worried. "What danger?"

This time, Christine could see the harsh conflicts he dealt with written on his face as he turned away. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

"Erik," she said insistently. "What is going on?"

"I can't explain it, Christine," he replied stiffly.

"Of course you can. You can trust me, you know that," she said, walking around to stand in front of him and try to look him in the eye.

"No, Christine, I can't. There are things… about my past that I would not have you know. They are not pleasant… they are wrong, but they are behind me."

Christine was becoming more puzzled, and much more worried, with each word.

"What things?" she asked slowly.

She was prying to much… he could not find it in himself to explain his murderous past to her. She would never forgive him.

"You would not understand," he said gruffly, trying to turn away again.

Christine, however, stayed right in front of him.

"What wouldn't I understand?" she snapped.

"Nothing," he replied irritably, knowing that it was not nothing and that she knew it as well.

"If you would just _tell _me, Erik…"

"Christine, I cannot tell you! I do not _want _you to know anything about it! My past is not the stuff of pleasant dreams," he spat.

Christine backed away, hurt.

"I trust you, Erik," she said softly. "And I have done much to show you that. I have crept out here at every hour of the day and night, deceiving my family to do so. I have told no one about you, and I have guarded my knowledge of you from everyone I know. I have _lied to my father _because you want me to. What else do I have to do, Erik? What more do you want from me? Can _nothing _prove to you that I trust you? That I… that I care for you?"

Erik looked up then, stunned to hear her say that she cared for him. She did not look angry, but she did look so upset…

"I don't care what you once were, Erik. From what little you have said… it seems… terrible. But you are _not _terrible now. If you would only tell me… maybe I could help you…" she trailed off at last. She had nothing more to say.

Erik smiled at her softly, a little sadly.

"That is because you do not know, _mon ange_," he whispered.

If calling her his angel hadn't made her look up, his gentle touch on her cheek certainly did. She stared up at him, surprised and hopeful, but it was not long before he let his hand drop.

"Come, Christine, it's late… let me take you home."

So he was not going to tell her then. She should have known.

They walked towards Christine's home in silence, neither one meeting the other's eyes. A soft breeze rifled across the open field, blowing the clouds away from the bright, round silver moon, tugging at Christine's unruly curls. She did not bother to deal with them; she did not care if they came loose. What did it matter? She had not managed to right things with Erik, and now there was even more wrong than there had been before. If only he would tell her, if only he would explain… she was convinced that she could help him, if he would only let her!

She was desperate from some kind of peace, some kind of end to the turmoil she now found herself in. Erik made it seem like there would be no cease to the unsolvable problems they had presented each other with. All she wanted was to gain back the peace she had once known with Erik, instead of the strange chaos that had replaced the friendly tranquility of their lessons.

The breeze that danced across her face and played havoc with her hair smelled faintly of salt. Suddenly, she wanted to run and stand on the shore, wanted to watch the peaceful play of moonlight on water, hear the soothing sounds of the waves.

"Erik… I would like to go down to the beach. Please," she suddenly said, her soft voice oddly forceful.

Erik was surprised – it was, after all, very, very late – but he agreed. She seemed so upset; perhaps this might soothe her.

Quietly, they slipped through the edge of town and down the narrow pathway that led down the bluffs to the shoreline. They walked a short way along the beach without speaking, the sand shuffling softly under their feet and the hem of Christine's skirts. The sky was a dark, greyish navy, the moon very white and bright above them. Silver ripples danced across the water, and the gentle lull of waves crashing against the sand covered nearly all other noise.

All noise, that is, except for one thing. As Erik watched Christine walk a little ahead of him, staring sadly out at the sea, he began to hum his elusive melody. It was not long before Christine stopped to listen to the soft music that seemed to blend so well with the sounds of the night.

"What are you humming?" she asked finally, turning to face him.

"Just… a song I wrote." _For you_, he added silently.

"Would you… sing it for me? Please?"

Erik smiled; he had been half-hoping that she would ask. He wanted to know how his melody really sounded. He nodded once, cleared his throat, and began.

"_Night-time sharpens, heightens each sensation_

_Darkness stirs and wakes imagination_

_Silently the senses abandon the defenses…_"

Christine could only stare at him as he sang, smiling all the while at her. His song was so soft, so gentle, so completely _him _that it sent shivers running up and down her spine. As he continued, she tentatively moved nearer to him, a warm smile spreading across her face as she did. Finally, she dared to rest her head against his shoulder, and he did not move away. She closed her eyes with a sigh as Erik's arm slipped around her and he continued his song, his wonderful rich voice in her ear.

"_Floating, falling, sweet intoxication_

_Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation_

_Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in_

_To the power of the music that I write_

_The power of the music of the night…_

_You alone can make my song take flight_

_Help me make the music of the night…_"

He trailed off softly, only then fully realizing that he held Christine in his arms. _I really ought to step away_, he thought, although not with much force. Finally, he'd given in; it felt far better to have her so close than to try and tear himself away.

Smiling, he chuckled softly to himself. Christine raised her head to look at him, puzzled.

"If this happens every time we argue, I ought to make you angry more often," he teased.

Christine laughed as well, but when she looked back at him, he was asking her a silent question, his grey eyes warm, yet intense as ever.

Slowly, giving her more than enough time to turn away, Erik leaned down and kissed her tentatively. Once she had gotten over her initial surprise, Christine threw her arms around his neck, never wanting to let go.

Later, once they had both caught their breath and Christine had hastily jabbed the pins back into the hair that Erik's fingers had pulled loose, Erik insisted that he take her home. It was late; she needed to sleep, and he needed to think. There were two things he could not now refuse her; an explanation for her father… and the truth about his past.

* * *

A/N: So, what do you think? Did I pull off the fluff well? Kitty fluff is so much more fun than mushy fluff... and don't worry, Akilah will be back soon.

Please let me know what you think!

Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	29. So It Begins

A/N: Sorry I'm a bit late, guys! I came home and just passed out, I was exhausted. It's been a looooong week...

Thanks very much to laal ratty, Timeflies, poetzproblem, Avatarded, Adi Sagestar, Songstressgirl, ladyAlyafaelyn, Elphie89, Animekitty47, and akutenshi666 for their lovely reviews!

And so, without further ado, chapter 29...

* * *

Chapter 29: So it Begins

_16__th__ June 1881_

Christine smiled as she finished her first song of the day and the crowd that had gathered around her and her family. She curtseyed politely and waited for the applause to stop before turning around and motioning for Vivienne to join her. Looking around at the crowd a little nervously, she stepped up to join Christine; they had been working on a song together over the past few days, and Viv had agreed to perform it that Saturday. Christine could not help but grin as the bouncy little tune began.

"_Dites-moi, pourquoi _

_La vie est belle,_

_Dites-moi, pourqoui,_

_La vie est gai,_

_Dites-moi, pourquoi_

_Chere Mad'moiselle _

_Est-ce que, Parce que_

_Vous m'aimez?_"

The crowd laughed and clapped when they finished their comical ditty; Vivienne giggled as the two of them slipped into the background and Frederek began playing a lively tune.

For a long time, Christine simply lost herself in her father's music, remembering all the times that she would dance with her mother while they listened to him play, all the wonderfully happy, cozy nights when the three of them would spend hours singing together. And every night, there would always be the special tale of the Angel of Music… she could see her mother's soft smile clearer than she had in all the months since her death, and Christine could not help but smile back. She _was _happy now… and the next time she saw him, she would tell Erik the part of the tale that she had left out before. It was difficult to conceal her blush at the memory of his kiss…

"Christine?"

Christine snapped back to reality as her father called her name.

"One more song, and then we'll head back for supper, all right?"

She smiled and nodded, taking her place at his side again.

At the back of the crowd, off to the side, there was a tall, impressive figure standing not quite in the shadows, but out of the way and unobtrusive. He had been waiting for the girl to sing again and eagerly watched her as she whispered something in her father's ear. Nervously, he adjusted his hat so that it sat a little further forward on his head to cover more of his white mask, half wishing that he had not foregone his fedora in favor of something more normal. But he was not there to act the ghost today.

Christine, oblivious to the fact that her teacher was at the back of the crowd, waited for the cue from the soft melody her father was playing for her and smiled as she began.

"_One fine day you'll find me, __A__ thread of smoke arising on the sea__, In the far horizon__, And then the ship appearing_…"

Erik listened to her sing so convincingly of trust and love, and for the first time in his life he could dare to hope that it was directed at him. It was difficult for him to remain at the back of the crowd; he wanted to rush forward and stand by her side. But he knew he could not, at least, not yet.

"_This will all come to pass as I tell you__, Banish your idle fears__, For__ he will return__, I know, __I know he will return_."

Christine curtseyed again when the reverie of music broke and she found the applause nearly deafening. She turned to her father, beaming, and he gave her shoulder a squeeze. She had come so far from the timid girl who refused to sing in front of anyone but him… he wished he could meet whoever it was who had given her such confidence, and know why she had to sneak out in order to achieve it.

The crowd slowly filtered away, some staying to talk to the Daaés for a moment. Erik wished they wouldn't – already he felt that each person was watching him, and it was making him very uncomfortable. Instead, he just pictured himself the perfect gentleman – the kind with absolutely nothing wrong with his face – and strode up to Christine and her family just as they were turning to leave.

"Excuse me, Monsieur Daaé – a word, if you please?"

Christine froze for a split second, hardly daring to believe her ears. She would recognize that voice anywhere but… could it truly be him? When she turned and saw him there, she had to work extremely hard to conceal the joyous expression she wanted to let spread across her face. She knew that he had to be following her suggestion, and so she tried her best to pretend she didn't know him.

"Yes, monsieur?" Christine's father answered curiously.

"My name is Erik Barré," he explained, making up another surname for himself quickly, "and I am a music professor of sorts. Your daughter is very talented, Monsieur Daaé."

Christine blushed and dropped her eyes shyly, although also hiding a smile while doing so.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"I would be interested in giving her voice lessons, if I may be direct," Erik continued, finding that this confident gentleman persona worked rather well.

Frederek's eyebrows flew upwards.

"Really? Well, I… that sounds wonderful! What do you think, Christine? Would you be interested in lessons?"

Christine looked up to meet Erik's eye, risking a slightly mischievous smile.

"I think I would, yes," she replied.

"Excellent," Erik said, smiling back.

"Could you stay with us for supper, monsieur, and we could work everything out? Majorie won't mind much, do you think, Vivienne?"

Viv, who had been staring more than a little nervously at the stranger's ghostly white mask, was jolted out of her reverie to answer by shaking her head vigorously.

"Maman likes guests," she replied timidly.

Erik stiffened slightly. He hadn't expected this… he had expected his offer to be accepted or, horrible though the thought was, rejected, and he would be able to return to his home – and stay there. Instead, he found himself invited to dinner with Christine's family… and he had no idea how to back out of things graciously. His only choice was to accept and hope that he could keep up his act.

"Thank you, Monsieur Daaé, that sounds excellent," he said.

Vivienne then muttered something about telling her mother that they were having a guest and sprinted off down the road; Frederek laughed and hurried after her, leaving Christine and Erik behind.

"You didn't tell me this was going to happen," he growled under his breath to her as they walked quickly along the path to catch up.

"I didn't know… but Erik, that was wonderful. You ought to have been an actor; if I hadn't known how much you were against this, I would never have guessed you were nervous."

"I was _not_ _nervous_," Erik insisted stubbornly, and Christine laughed.

"Everything will be fine, I promise," she said reassuringly, giving him a kiss on the cheek before stepping a respectable distance away and leading him to her home, which he already knew how to find.

* * *

Little did they know that someone else had been watching Christine's performance that afternoon, and had observed Erik's offer of lessons from behind a vegetable stand several yards away. Alasd watched the exchange with scorn, wishing that he could edge closer so that he could hear more of what was said. He was able to gather the gist of the conversation; that the murderer had offered to give that pretty young woman, Christine, singing lessons. At the sideways glances and smiles the two of them kept exchanging whenever the other two people there weren't looking, Alasd glared harshly. He was beyond shocked when, later, he saw the girl kiss the murderer's cheek. How dare that _man _presume to be so respectable, at all normal? He was a ghost, a monster, a murderer! He did not deserve the happiness he seemed to have found.

An idea suddenly came into his head, and he turned to study the girl with renewed fervor. Curly, upswept hair, brown eyes, pale, a soft smile. The ideal young lady, it seemed. How much would it pain Erik to lose her?

He grinned harshly as he surreptitiously followed the two of them towards a large house that, it seemed, belonged to the girl and her family, a new plan forming all the while.

* * *

A/N: (dun dun DUN...)

I was really bad and borrowed TWO songs for this chapter: the first was "Dites-moi" by the great duo Rogers & Hammerstein, from the musical "South Pacific." It's just an unbearably cute song! The second was from Hayley Westenra's new CD (which I still have to procure...) and was the English version of "Un Bel Di" from Puccini's "Madame Butterfly."

Have a good weekend! Please let me know what you think! Review!

Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	30. Cry Havoc and Let Slip the Dogs of War

A/N: What do you want to bet that my full title isn't going to fit into that little box thing... (sigh) (is shocked five minutes later when it actually does fit) So, brownie points to whoever can identify that quote!

In any case, a very happy Friday to everyone! Especially to laal ratty, Timeflies, Adi Sagestar, Lady Wen, -Green-Clown, Avatarded, aragornme, Elphie89, Songstressgirl07, The-Lonely-Child, akutenshi666 and Animekitty47 for their fantabulous reviews!

And so, it begins...

* * *

Chapter 30: Cry 'Havoc!' and Let Slip the Dogs of War 

_16__th__ June 1881_

Feeling more awkward than he ever had in his life, Erik sat next to Christine and surrounded by her family at their dinner table. He was, luckily, able to remain mostly silent through the meal, although he did notice the tension in the room, and how Christine's young cousin kept her eyes fixed on him for the entire time.

Finally, Christine rose to help her aunt clear the table and, giving him an apologetic look, disappeared into the kitchen. Naturally, that was when her father cleared his throat and tried to forge a conversation.

"So, Monsieur… Barré, correct?" He continued at a nod from Erik. "Where did you study music? You say you are a professor?"

"A professor of sorts. I usually do not take on students; I often prefer to be much more… anonymous when offering advice. But I was in Paris for a time," he concluded ambiguously. This was most thoroughly aggravating. He had never had to weigh each word as much as he did now.

Frederek only nodded; perhaps if Erik had not been speaking with a fellow musician, his strange way of dodging the question might have been easily detected. As it was, he was dealing with someone used to a performer's eccentricities.

"If I might ask, where are you from, Monsieur Daaé?" Erik asked, quickly turning the conversation away from himself.

It seemed that he had inadvertently stumbled across just the right question to ask. It seemed that Christine's father had been feeling quite homesick of late, and he launched into a detailed description of his native Sweden. Erik listened intently, learning things Christine had never told him about her family and about herself.

Christine leaned against the doorframe between the kitchen and dining room, absently rubbing at an already dry dish and watching the reactions of her family to her teacher. Her father seemed to like him already and was telling him stories about the fairs and parties he used to play at with her and her mother. Garran was shifting impatiently in his seat, having heard all those stories already; Vivienne still had yet to take her wide, nervous eyes off of Erik's mask. Lucien, it seemed, wasn't sure what to make of the sudden appearance of this gentleman at their dinner table, and her uncle was only half-listening, interjecting a loud laugh every so often.

The rest of the evening seemed to pass in an agonizingly slow fashion for Erik. It was easier when Christine rejoined the conversation and could provide answers as well, but he could still acutely feel her young cousin's eyes fixed on his mask and could not help but wonder if she had recognized him for his legendary counterpart. An eternity passed before he finally mentioned the time and that he ought to be getting home.

"When shall I return for Christine's lesson?" he asked Christine.

She turned questioningly towards her father.

"Papa?" she inquired, asking him to name the time, and then suggesting one. "How about tomorrow?"

"That sounds fine. _Bonne nuit,_ Monsieur Barré," Frederek said with a smile, shaking Erik's hand vigorously.

"The same to you, and thank you," Erik replied, glad that he would no longer have to be quite so sickeningly polite. There was gentlemanly, and there was groveling…

"Make sure you don't run into the ghost on the way home, Monsieur," Vivienne suddenly piped in.

It was the first thing she had said for hours, and everyone present turned to look at her curiously. Christine had to bite the inside of her lip to keep herself from going very pale, but Erik was able to laugh it off quickly.

"Don't worry, Mademoiselle; he leaves me alone. _Bonne nuit_," he said, smiling.

"I'll walk you out, Monsieur," Christine added quickly, turning to walk out the door and to the end of her uncle's property.

"That cousin of yours is just a little too smart, my dear," Erik said with a laugh, pressing his hand into his temple.

"I thought you did very well," she replied, reaching up to take his hand. "Thank you. You know how much this means to me."

Erik fell silent, returning her smile. It was worth the torture of company if he could make her happy. He gently brushed his fingertips across her cheek.

"Whatever the case, I'm going to get you back for this, _mon ange_," he muttered.

"Oh really? Well, do your worst, Monsieur Ghost," she replied with a laugh, leaning towards him a bit with a coquettish smile.

Erik chuckled; who was he to deny such a request? He slipped his hand under her chin, tilted her head upwards, and leaned down to kiss her deeply.

Christine only pulled away when she realized that she would be missed.

* * *

The next day, when Erik reappeared on Christine's doorstep, he found himself once again ushered inside her home. He had hoped to escort her back to his house, and therefore not have to spend any further time with her family, but it seemed it was not to be so. 

"You're lucky Lucien is letting us practice alone up here," Christine said softly, opening a window in her attic bedroom. "And that Papa is loaning you his violin for the day. But there was a bit of an argument after you left last night – Lucien was outraged that Papa would just allow a stranger such as you to walk into their house and my life, and Papa said that there was nothing wrong with you. Even my uncle joined in – he said Papa could raise his daughter how he wanted, and that Lucien had no claim on me, so he had better be quiet… I'm sorry. You don't need to know my family politics." She fell silent.

"No, that's all right. I'm sorry to have caused you trouble… Just how attached is Lucien to you?"

Christine could not help but grin at the note of jealousy she heard creeping into Erik's voice.

"He acts like an overprotective older brother. He's family, Erik, you needn't worry about him."

Erik nodded stiffly, aware that Christine had caught the real meaning of his question.

"Well, how about we begin, so as not to raise further suspicion?"

"Yes, maestro," Christine replied, laughing.

There was no way that they could hide the success of their lesson from the rest of the household. Even from up in the attic, Christine's crystal-clear voice carried easily through the house, causing everyone to stop what they were doing and listen. Once or twice, Erik sang with her; Viv dropped the basket of laundry she was carrying for her mother – not out of fear, but of awe – and Frederek immediately noticed how well their voices blended together. He was suddenly reminded of all the stories he and Eliane had told their daughter of the Angel of Music, and he had to quickly blink back a tear.

Little changed for two weeks. They were not able to meet every day, but instead Erik scheduled lessons two or three times a week, more frequently than they were able to have them before. After a time, they were even able to convince Christine's father and Lucien that she would be quite safe with Erik for a few hours, and were allowed to disappear to his home for their lessons – but only because of the benefit of the piano. Lucien was always waiting for her when she returned, glaring a little disapprovingly at her, but she always gave him a reassuring smile and disappeared into the kitchen to help her aunt with supper. Erik nearly forgot about the shadow that had appeared on his doorstep. He had never been so utterly content in his life, and simply ceased to worry about the intruder in his new life.

That is, until he encountered him one day as he was on the way back from walking Christine home.

He happened to look up from his path about fifteen yards away from Alasd. The young Persian man was surveying the vacant meadows that, undoubtedly, he had been told were the ghost's inhabitancy. Instinctively, Erik began backing slowly away from the man, knowing that if he ran he would be heard immediately, and Alasd was carrying a very unfriendly looking rifle. He managed to back away another few yards as he edged closer to Perros – which would be easier to reach than his home – before he stepped on something behind him that crackled under his foot.

He froze, and Alasd whipped around to face him. It was the work of moments for him to raise his gun and aim.

"Careful with that, boy," Erik barked. "You wouldn't want to hurt yourself, now…"

"Silence, murderer!" Alasd roared, and a split second later Erik heard the crack of the shot and felt something whiz past his right ear.

He didn't wait any longer. He turned and bolted as quickly as he could towards town, cursing the fact that there was absolutely no cover closer by. Behind him, he heard Alasd stumble as he tried to give chase, dropping his gun and letting loose a stream of Persian curses as Erik sped away from him and into the safety of town.

Erik did not stop when he reached the streets of Perros; he walked briskly through the streets, dodging people and looking at no one, and then made his way home via a careful and roundabout route. Only there did he allow his shaking knees to give out as he collapsed onto his piano bench.

What if Christine had been with him? If the encounter had happened only twenty minutes earlier, Christine could easily have been killed. He dropped his head into his shaking hands at the thought.

Akilah slipped out from underneath her armchair with a yawn and a stretch. She wound her thin body around Erik's legs, purring comfortingly. He reached down and absently petted the little white cat until she settled into sleep on his feet, leaving him to his thoughts.

There was no way he could vanish on Christine now; now there were others that knew of their connection. But he did have to protect her… he had to keep her safe from the madman who had come searching for him. But how…?

He could be a ghost a third time if he needed to, if it meant saving Christine. He could protect her by never letting her out of his sight.

Two days later, after their lesson, he stayed close by her house, watching closely for any sign of his attacker. That night, when everything was quiet and still, he once again pulled himself up into Christine's attic room through her open window, hiding himself in a shadowy corner and watching her sleep.

_Nothing's going to happen to you, __mon__ange_, he thought fervently. _I will keep you safe._

* * *

A/N: Yeah, I know, a little bit stalker-esque on his part... but he's concerned for her safety, okay? (wink) 

So, please let me know what you think! Review! It'll help me write faster. (more wink)

Thanks for reading! --Kyrie_  
_


	31. Unfriendly Shadows

A/N: Sorry this is a little late, guys.

Thanks to Adi Sagestar, Poetzproblem, Timeflies, Avatarded, aragornme, Songstressgirl07, Elphie89, Animekitty47, Nyasia A. Maire, ladyAlyafaelyn, akutenshi666, and The-Lonely-Child for their reviews.

* * *

Chapter 31: Unfriendly Shadows

_25__th__ June 1881_

It had been a very odd lesson. The moment she and Erik had stepped through the door, Akilah had started rubbing herself so furiously against Erik's legs that Christine was afraid she just might topple over. Later, the little cat had insisted on curling up in Erik's lap for the entire lesson, as though pinning him down.

Erik was behaving a little oddly as well. She had never seen him look tired before, but clearly he was out of sorts. He even played the same scale two times once or twice, forgetting their place. He'd never done that before. However, he kept her quite busy through the lesson so that she didn't have time to ask him any questions between exercises.

When she heard him hit a blatantly wrong chord in the song she'd been working on, however, she stopped singing and turned to him, worried.

"Are you all right? You seem awfully tired today…"

Erik cursed inwardly. He had been hoping that his constant watch over her wouldn't wear him down in such an obvious way.

"I'm fine," he insisted.

"Erik," she said, sliding onto the piano bench beside him, "I have never heard you hit one wrong note in all the time I've known you, much less an entirely wrong chord. What's wrong?"

"The chord. I know, I always miss that chord, it's…" he gave up at the extremely skeptical look she gave him.

"I suppose I haven't been getting enough sleep," he admitted, hoping that sounded like a reasonable answer to her.

Christine smiled at him and slid her arm around him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"You could have just told me. It's not as though that's an unusual problem."

_No, but the cause is_, he thought.

"I suppose," he answered, glad that he didn't sound as though he were deliberately withholding information about _why _he couldn't sleep.

"I'll walk myself home so that you can get some rest…"

"No," Erik said quickly, cutting her off.

Christine raised her head and looked up at him in surprise. There was something going on that he wasn't telling her.

"Erik?" she asked, leaning forward to try and meet his eye. He only smiled and shrugged elegantly.

"All right, keep your secrets then," she said with a sigh, shaking her head. "But promise me you'll get some rest?"

Erik smiled at her, running his hand over her soft curls. He truly was touched to have someone care so much about his well-being.

"All right, _mon ange_. I promise."

She returned his smile and even gave him a kiss before slipping out of his embrace and standing up.

"Very good. I'll see myself home then – no, don't get up, Erik. You'll disturb your cat."

Akilah's ear flicked up at the mention of her, and, glaring fiercely, she flattened herself further over Erik's legs, clearly determined to keep him there. Christine laughed.

"Good girl, Akilah," she said with a pert nod. "I'll see you in a few days," she added, almost sounding reluctant to leave.

Erik allowed her to see herself out and gave her a head start of two or three minutes before quickly scooping up his cat and getting to his feet. He hastily placed Akilah on the top of the piano and hurried towards the door to follow Christine, in no way intending to let her walk home alone.

Akilah leapt down from the piano and darted over to him, tackling his leg with a loud meow. Erik winced as he felt her claws scrape his skin and nearly fell over as he tried not to step on her.

"What? I fed you before I started Christine's lesson!"

Akilah sat stolidly in front of him, giving him her best cat-glare.

"I'm sorry if you think I'm ignoring you. I'm keeping you safe this way too, you know. The less I'm here, the fewer chances he has to follow me here."

Akilah kept glaring.

"I have to protect Christine," he told her forcefully, and he quickly sidestepped her and slipped out the door, closing it before she could rush outside and join him.

For quite some time afterwards, Akilah scratched and mewed at the door, wanting Erik to come back, or at least to let her come along.

* * *

_27__th__ June 1881_

Christine forced herself awake from a dream that she wasn't sure was pleasant or not. She was completely tangled in her sheets, and her cheeks had turned a brilliant shade of pink. For the time being, it was probably best to pretend she hadn't been dreaming about Erik at all…

There was a soft rustling noise from a corner of the attic, and she jumped, instinctively pulling a fistful of blanket closer to her. The rustling was followed by a quiet footstep, and this time she leapt out of bed, feeling behind her for the dressing gown she had draped over a chair beside her bed and pulling it tightly around her.

Then whoever was in her room whispered "shhhh, it's me," and Christine's expression melted from terror to astonishment to mortification.

"Erik?" she said softly. "What are you doing here?"

Erik stepped quietly out of the shadowy corner and into what little light there was in the room. Christine was suddenly very glad that it was a dark night and he couldn't see how violently she was blushing.

"I'm… I'm making sure you're safe," he replied haltingly.

"Safe? Of course I'm safe." She crossed her arms tightly across her chest, puzzled.

"Christine…" he began, but he faltered for a long moment. She waited in silence for him to continue. "I… don't want you involved in… a nasty matter involving my past that has recently… resurfaced. I don't want to put you in any danger… I want to protect you."

"From what?"

Erik fell silent, and Christine shook her head.

"Erik, if you would only _tell _me… maybe I could help you."

"No, Christine… I don't want you involved. This is… this man is too dangerous."

"What man? What happened?"

"It was a long time ago… there are many things I've done that I regret now, you must understand…"

"_What _things?" Christine prodded, but this time it was his turn to shake his head.

"Go back to sleep, Christine. Don't worry, you'll be fine, I promise."

"Is this why you haven't had any sleep? You've been guarding me every night?"

"Ah…"

"Erik," Christine said sternly, "Nothing's going to happen to me. Really. But you'll make yourself sick if you carry on like this."

"Christine…"

"And I'll bet you followed me home the other day when I insisted that you rest… Erik, please, I'll be fine. Go home and get some sleep!"

He gave her a stern, stubborn glare that clearly stated that he wasn't letting her out of his sight until whatever danger he knew about had passed.

"At the very least, think of the trouble I'd get into if someone found you here. And besides, who else would be able to climb up here through the window like you do? Any normal person would have to break in through the door, and Lucien sleeps on the first floor. He's a light sleeper."

With a sigh, Erik capitulated. He could see that she wasn't going to give in until she got her way and he got some rest.

"All right, Christine, you win."

She grinned at him, uncrossing her arms to shoo him towards the window.

"Go on, go back home. I'll see you tomorrow – we have another lesson, remember?"

Erik nodded and headed reluctantly towards the window. Christine followed behind him, intending to make sure he really did go home and didn't just lurk outside her house. She hadn't been expecting him to turn around when he was already on the window ledge, grab her by the shoulders, and give her a searing kiss; she was out of breath and dizzy when he let her go and disappeared into the cloudy, moonless night.

Christine followed her own advice and went back to bed, but she found that no matter what she did, she could not fall asleep. Instead, she lay there restlessly, halfway between the realm of dreams and reality, unsure that what had just happened had been a dream or not.

* * *

Outside, twenty feet away from Christine's window and hidden in shadow, Alasd nearly broke his cover in surprise when he saw Erik in the window of the girl's room before daybreak. He had been watching that monster climb up and down the old stonework of the house for four nights in a row now, and believed that he could copy the movements if he was careful. The girl was his if he could get up there…

He waited for about a half hour more to make sure that Erik was truly gone and that the girl would be asleep. Then, he slung his rifle over his shoulder, raced up to the house, and dug his fingers into the place he believed Erik had started.

The mortar between the stones crumbled beneath his fingers in a few places, making it easier to catch his grip. His arms and hands burned, and he nearly fell too many times to count; he cursed Erik silently all the way up the wall. By some miracle, however, he made it up. Clearly, his sleepless nights of observation had paid off.

He slipped through the still-open window and landed lightly on the floor, hoping that the wooden boards would not creak. He crept forwards slowly, pulling his rifle into position. The curly-haired girl was asleep, her back to him. She looked so peaceful in the gloom of that dreary attic… he suddenly realized that his hands were shaking. She had never done anything to him… this was madness! What was he doing… how could he simply kill her?

Just as he was almost ready to climb back out and pretend he had never come, he felt that he could hear his father's voice in his head, his father's voice roaring for his son to avenge him. The girl was important to Erik, as his father had been important to Alasd… he gritted his teeth and took a step forward, not caring that it was easily audible.

Why wouldn't his hands stop shaking?

Christine heard the footstep and groaned, immediately thinking that Erik had returned after all. She rolled over towards the sound.

"Erik…"

It was only when she heard a soft click that she opened her eyes and saw that it was not Erik at all, but a man that was pointing a rifle directly at her.

In one quick motion, she half leapt, half tumbled out of her bed and screamed as loudly as she could.

Alasd turned and bolted out the window, and halfway down the wall he missed a grip and slid, wrenching his ankle. He paid it little heed and raced away from the house as quickly as he could manage.

By the time her family had reached her room, he was nowhere to be found.

* * *

A/N: You guys will all be lovely people and review, right? I've had a really, really rough day. Hence the lateness.

Thanks for reading. --Kyrie


	32. Confessions

A/N: Can't talk. Am being chased to bed - PSATs tomorrow. This chapter is unbetaed - my apologies. Apologies also for not mentioning all my fabulous reviewers - I'll come back and add your names in when I have a moment. Thank you all very much!

* * *

Chapter 32: Confessions

_28__th__ June 1881_

"I don't know. For the thousandth time, Lucien, I don't know!"

Christine sat in the front room of her aunt and uncle's home, surrounded by her worried family but not looking up at any of them. She was very pale and felt very small. For hours, all through the rest of the night and into the morning, her family – Lucien and her father in particular – had been bombarding her with questions, questions that all boiled down to the same thing – did she know who it had been in her room, or why he would have wanted to kill her?

She shivered despite the summer heat. There was no answer that she could provide them, and she was so scared… she only wished she knew.

Frederek finally stopped his nephew from asking any more questions and sat down beside his daughter, enveloping in a comforting hug. To think that he had almost lost her as well…

Lucien informed everyone that he was going to go take a look around, and the rest of the household slowly dispersed and left father and daughter alone.

"Are you sure you're all right, Christine?"

"Yes, Papa… I'm fine. Just… scared," she admitted.

"I am too," he told her, hugging her tightly. "I'm going to go and help Lucien. Will you be all right?"

She nodded as they both got to their feet.

"I think it would perhaps be better if you postponed your lesson today," Frederek added. "I would be more at ease if I knew where you were."

Christine didn't protest; she understood.

"Can I at least explain to him what happened? He'll worry if I don't say anything at all…"

"Of course," Frederek smiled at his daughter. "Don't worry; we'll get this all sorted out somehow, I promise."

Christine smiled at her father as he walked away, disappearing up to her room to dress. Her room seemed so hostile and dark; there was nowhere near enough sunlight coming in to light the whole room. Shadows leered at her from the boxes and old bits of furniture piled up on the other side of the room. She dressed as quickly as she could manage, not wanting to be alone there, her feeling of security in her home gone. Her attempts to pin up her hair were abandoned when she discovered that her hands were shaking so badly that she merely kept jabbing herself. It was only when she was back down the stairs again that she was able to breathe properly and relax again.

She curled up as much as she could in an armchair in the front room, waiting for what seemed years for Erik to appear. Maybe he could somehow provide an answer… was this the danger he had spoken of? Would he be angry with her now for sending him away?

After an eternity, she finally heard Erik's distinctive rap at the door. She shot to her feet and ran to the door, quick to answer it before anyone else noticed that he'd arrived. The moment she opened the door, she grabbed his hand and pulled him inside.

"Christine?" he asked, sounding puzzled and a little concerned. He had instantly noticed how pale she was, and that her hair was loose and disheveled.

"Papa said it would be better not to have a lesson today," she said quickly, in a whisper; he didn't understand why.

"… All right… Christine, what-"

"Sssh," she told him, still gripping his hand very tightly and pulling him with her down the hallway to her room. "Come on."

Vivienne saw the two of them pass the kitchen and head upstairs to Christine's room, but she said nothing. They had often had their lessons up there together, and what with Christine so upset… well, perhaps her teacher could comfort her somehow. Quietly, she went back to peeling potatoes.

"Christine, what is it?" Erik asked the moment they had reached her room. Christine was looking around them nervously, wringing her hands together, her shoulders tense.

"Erik, I… you were… you were right. Someone came in here last night and… oh, God…" Christine turned away slightly, wishing she could explain what had happened calmly, wishing that she didn't have to be so scared. Erik's face froze in horror. "I'm sorry, I should have listened to you!"

For a moment, he couldn't move, couldn't say anything. Then he silently stepped up behind her, putting his hands gently on her shoulders.

"What happened? Are you hurt? Who was it?" he asked quickly.

"Yes… no… I don't know! After you'd gone, I… I couldn't get back to sleep, and… and a while later, I heard someone's footstep. I… I thought it was you, I thought you'd come back… but then I heard a c-click, and I looked up… and there was a man in my room, h-holding a gun… I screamed and he ran… Erik, I'm so frightened…" And, as hard as she had been trying not to, to hold herself together, she began to cry.

As horrified and angry as he was, he knew it wouldn't do any good to let Christine see that. It wasn't her fault, not her fault at all… it was his. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him, holding her securely. After a moment, she turned around and threw her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shirtfront. Gently, he led her over and sat down next to her on the edge of her bed, one arm still wrapped around her waist.

"This… man," he began after allowing her to cry for a few minutes. "What did he look like? Did he look… foreign?"

"It was… was awfully dark," she said, wiping at her eyes, "and I only saw him for a few moments… but… but when he turned to run and I could see a part of his face in the bit of light from the window…" she thought in silence for a moment, trying to place the features on a person she had only seen as a blur in the darkness. "I couldn't see his face very well, but I've never seen anyone wear clothes like his."

Erik was silent; he couldn't look at her. Instead, he stared out in front of him, guilt washing over him. Christine could have been killed… she could have been killed, and it was his fault!

She didn't question his silence; she merely rested her head on his shoulder and held him to her, breathing slowly to calm herself.

"Christine… I'm afraid I haven't been entirely truthful with you. That man… that man was the danger I spoke of last night. It's my fault he's here, my fault that all of this is happening." She raised her head to look at him, puzzled. "I haven't told you much about my past, but I thought you would be safer not knowing. I thought you would… I thought you would hate or fear me if you knew.

"When I was a young man, in my twenties, perhaps, I was taken to the Mazanderan court in Persia to entertain the shah. I was a magician. It… didn't take long before they realized that they could use me for other things as well, other things that were entertaining to them and would be vulgar to any kind person. They made short work of turning me into a mercenary. That man who tried to attack you… I killed his father. I organized that boy's father's death because he insulted me… and now it's come back to haunt me. I expect that he wanted to harm you to hurt me… the same thing I did to him. Christine… I apologize for not telling you before. I couldn't. I was so ashamed… and I was selfish. I thought I could keep you with me if you didn't know… but I just couldn't let you know, couldn't let you leave. You are the first person to ever truly care…" he trailed off, his jaw clenched, waiting for her explosion or disgust.

Christine hadn't spoken a word during his confession. She merely sat and listened, and now she reached for his hand and held it again, another tear escaping her guard and rolling down her cheeks. She almost couldn't believe what she was hearing. It was as though he were referring to a different person, not his own past. He had changed so much… and he knew what he had done was wrong. Who was she to condemn him, when it was so clear that he had spent half a lifetime condemning himself?

"Erik…" she said softly, and he turned to look at her, his mask rendering his face nearly unreadable. "You've changed, Erik. You're different now… you… you know better," she attempted to explain, floundering for the words to say what she truly meant. "You're the same man I knew before today. You're not the person you were then. And I do care about you; nothing can change that now… I love you." Her voice faded to a whisper just before she fell silent, but he heard.

"You… you truly mean that?" he asked falteringly, unable to believe that someone could still accept him after they knew all of his many faults. How could that be?

"Yes," she told him, smiling softly.

Suddenly, he shot to his feet and, looking purposeful and almost stern, he headed back downstairs. Christine got to her feet and hurried after him.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to find him," he said stiffly. "I'm going to take care of this, one way or another."

Somehow, Christine did not much like the sound of that 'one way or another.'

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, finally pulling him to a halt at the edge of her uncle's property.

"I'm going to find him and see if I can talk some sense into him. If he bolted when you woke, perhaps he has a conscience after all."

"You will be careful, won't you?" she said, reaching up her hand to touch his face.

"Of course, _mon__ange_, I'm always careful," he said softly, then bent down to kiss her.

Lucien had been having absolutely no luck with his search for clues. The mystery attacker had left nothing at all behind. Frustrated, he was headed back towards the house; perhaps his uncle or his father had found something. Suddenly, he turned the corner and stopped, shocked at what he saw. Still, he couldn't quite bring himself to shout out a demand to know why Monsieur Barré was kissing his cousin. He staggered back to the house, stunned and furious.

Erik finally released Christine and, with a last smile, headed off towards his home, trying to think where to begin his search. His fists clenched and shook when he thought of Christine being attacked, however unsuccessfully. _Alasd Kahn_, he snarled to himself,_ you will regret ever having set eyes on her. __How dare you try to harm an innocent? You cowardly wretch! I will find you… I will._ _And that day will be truly unpleasant for you, my friend. _

About a quarter mile away, behind some dense brush, Alasd huddled, shivering, clutching at his twisted ankle, moaning quietly as the roar of his father's voice grew ever louder in his head, insisting upon vengeance, always vengeance, always blood.

* * *

A/N: Review!!!

Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	33. The BeAll and EndAll

A/N: I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!!!! Please please accept my most humble apologies. I don't want you to think I'm giving you a sob story or excuses or anything, but I've had a lot of school- and extracurricular-work recently. The only times I have to write are weekends, and often my weekends are overly crushed with homework as well. I started this chapter yesterday evening, and I just couldn't get it all done at once. It was too important to rush it. Again, this is unbetaed - I didn't want to make you guys wait too long, especially after that cliffie. That being said, I hope this is all right...

Reviews!

Chapter 31: Thanks to Timeflies, Nyasia A. Maire, laal ratty, poetzproblem, Animekitty47, Adi Sagestar, akutenshi666, Songstressgirl07

Chapter 32: Thanks to Timeflies, laal ratty, Nyasia A. Maire, Animekitty47, aragornme, Avatarded, Adi Sagestar, SSLE, and akutenshi666.

Thank you all for being patient with me - I REALLY hope this is satisfactory... (frets)

* * *

Chapter 33: The Be-All and End-All

_29__th__ June 1881_

The morning was grey and misty, an unseasonably cold rain having fallen during the night. Erik did not feel the chill, so intent was he on his goal. He moved silently through a grove of trees near his home, having searched everywhere else imaginable and concluding that the man he sought had to be hiding there. He hadn't had any luck so far; the boy had to be staying very still and quiet if he was succeeding in evading him so well…

Suddenly, there was a loud rustle a few yards to his left. When he looked, however, he could not see anyone there, but he could hear someone running, or trying to run, away from him.

"Alasd!" he called sharply. The movement ceased. "What are you doing so far from home, Alasd?"

"Avenging my father's murder!" came the answering voice, thin and trembling. Erik cautiously stepped closer to the sound, but halted when he heard a click ahead of him.

"Don't come any closer! I'll shoot!"

"Put your gun down, boy," Erik said insistently. If he could only coax him out of his madness somehow… He took another step.

"Don't come any closer!" the boy insisted, and when Erik dared another step, Alasd made good his word and shot just past Erik's legs.

"All right. I'll stay where I am. But if you could shoot to warn me, why do you not kill me? I expect that would end your vengeance mission?"

Alasd remained silent.

"You're only a boy. You don't want to kill anyone, do you? Go home, Alasd."

"I am here to avenge my father's murder," the Persian man reasserted, still sounding fearful, from his hidden position in the foliage.

"Then do it!"

Silence again. After a moment, Erik heard more rustling; this time, it sounded as though the boy were trying to scoot away from him.

"Put the gun down and go home, Alasd."

"Don't tell me what to do, you monster!"

"If I am a monster, then so be it. But who are you to call me that? You, who tried to kill an innocent girl?"

"You- you care about her. You killed my father…"

"What does that matter? What if I said to you that I don't care-"

"I don't believe you, beast!"

"Don't believe me, then. It doesn't matter. What did she ever do to harm you? What has she to do with any of this? Leave her out of this, boy."

"You don't deserve it, any of it! How could she care for such a creature as you?"

He had hit a nerve. Erik's hands curled into tight fists, but he forced himself to stay still.

"I could kill you now, boy. You know I could. You ought to know exactly what I want to do to you right now for trying to harm her – it's just what you want to do to me, isn't it?"

"You don't know! You can't understand anything! You're a monster, a heartless murderer! My father was a good man, an innocent just like her-"

"Your father was no saint, boy!"

He had gone too far. In the bushes across from Erik, Alasd lurched to his feet, his ankle still painful from the day before. He ignored it, clenching his teeth, seething at Erik.

"You bastard! You will pay for my father's death, he will be avenged!"

And with that he shot off, half-limping, half-running away through the trees.

"Alasd!" he roared after the boy's retreating back, instinctively starting after him.

_You will pay_…

Erik halted suddenly, then turned and began to run in the opposite direction. His only hope was to beat Alasd to Christine and make sure that she was safe…

* * *

Christine walked calmly down the stairs, pulling a shawl around her shoulders as she headed towards the front door. She hadn't been able to sleep the night before – after countless hours of jumping at every shadow and worrying constantly about what Erik might have got himself into, she had finally slipped back downstairs and curled up in an armchair, finally falling into a fitful sleep. She was still trying to work the kink out of her neck.

She had almost reached the door when her cousin suddenly stepped in front of her, blocking the way, his arms folded across his chest and a grim expression on his face.

"Good morning, Lucien," Christine said, trying to keep her puzzlement out of her voice.

"Where are you going?" he asked bluntly.

"I wanted to go and see Erik. I'm worried-"

"You'll stay right here, at home, Christine. You won't be seeing him anymore."

"Lucien…" Christine said exasperatedly, trying to sidestep him to reach the door. He moved to block her.

"What's the matter, Lucien? I'm perfectly entitled to go and speak with my voice teacher if I wish…"

"Voice teacher, is that really what he calls himself?" Lucien spat.

"_Yes_, Lucien. What has gotten into you?" Christine asked, shaking her head, her brows furrowed.

"I won't let him take advantage of my cousin," he replied stiffly, as though he didn't want to outline his thoughts for her, as though he believed she already knew.

"Take advantage of me? Where would you ever get such a ridiculous-"

"It's no use lying to me, Christine. I saw him kissing you yesterday."

For a moment, Christine froze, silent. Lucien had seen…? But then she turned stubbornly to face him, raising her chin defiantly.

"And I was kissing him. He isn't taking advantage of me, Lucien."

"Christine, you've known him for two weeks and you let him… you let him-"

"Lucien," she asserted, "I appreciate your concern, but there's nothing for you to worry about."

"You aren't safe with him, Christine!"

"I would have to be either loose or stupid to be unsafe with him," she sighed, crossing her arms, "and I am neither. Now, would you kindly let me pass?"

"No."

"You are not my keeper, Lucien LaGrange," she snapped at him, frustrated. "You don't understand him at all…"

"So that's your excuse, is it?"

"It's not an excuse! Neither of us know what it's like to never be spared a passing glance except in fear… I'm the first person to truly care about him, and he might need me now."

"He's only telling you that to fool you into believing him. Why does he cover his face? You don't know if he could be some sort of criminal in hiding…"

"That's not why he wears that mask, Lucien," Christine snapped.

"And you know? How could you know anything about him after so little time?"

"I've known him longer than you think!" she replied harshly before she realized what she was saying.

"What? How could you have known him longer?""I…um…" Her irritation vanished in the face of her mistake; how was she to explain that?

"He was who you were sneaking out at night to see, wasn't he?"

Christine whipped around to find her father standing behind her; what he had said had not truly been a question.

"You… you knew?"

"I guessed," her father said with a bit of a sad smile. "All those late-night walks had to be for a reason."

"Papa… I'm so sorry, I should have told you… but he… he hasn't exactly been… well received by anyone, and he didn't want me to… and I trusted him, I'm not sure why… I still do…"

"Christine!" Lucien cried, shocked.

"I should have said _something_…"

"Christine," her father said, cutting into her rambling. "I understand."

It was all he said and all she needed to hear. She threw her arms around her father, hugging him tightly for a moment, before turning away and, without a word, heading out the back door. Her father must have stopped Lucien, because he didn't follow. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and, with a smile, set off towards Erik's house. It was the only place where she knew to look for him.

* * *

Erik allowed himself to slow and catch his breath only when Christine's house came into view, but he didn't rest for long. What if Alasd had beaten him there…? He darted up to the house and was about to pound on the front door when he saw Christine's lanky cousin coming around the corner, looking irritated.

"Where's Christine?" Erik asked as loudly as he could.

Lucien looked up to find Erik, panting hard and with a frantic expression on his face, and frowned.

"That's none of your business," he replied coldly.

"I don't have time for this! Tell me where she is now, she could be…"

"Could be what? She can't be in any more trouble than she'd get into with you…"

With a snarl, Erik strode forward and grasped the young man by the shoulders.

"I would never harm Christine. Never, do you understand me? If you don't tell me where she is, she could be killed!"

"_What_?" Lucien cried, incredulous.

"There isn't _time_ for this!" Erik snapped at him.

"She's not here," someone else said. The two men turned to see Vivienne leaning out the kitchen window.

"Viv!" Lucien spat; clearly, he still didn't want Erik to know anything.

"She went out just a few minutes ago… I think she went to look for you. I… um… overheard her… talking to my brother…"

"Thank you most kindly, mademoiselle," Erik said, giving Viv a smile before turning and bolting off in the direction he'd come from, still hoping that he was not too late.

* * *

The mist was thicker when she reached the thick growths of trees near Erik's home – the spreading branches kept out much of the sunlight that would have banished the fog. The blanket of white moisture made the forest eerily silent; nothing besides her own footsteps could be heard.

Her own footsteps… and someone else's.

Christine froze, and the other steps halted with her. Looking around her, she could see no one.

"Erik?" she asked softly. He was the only one she knew who could hide so well…

But there was no reply. Brushing it off as a squirrel or some such thing, she continued on her way.

She had not taken another four steps when there was a sudden burst of noise very close to her, and someone burst out of the trees to stand in front of her. The very same someone who had appeared in her room two nights before… still holding his gun, and still aiming it directly at her. She wanted to scream, wanted to call for help… but no sound came out of her mouth.

"Not a sound…" the man in front of her snarled. "Not a sound out of you. No one will hear you anyway."

"W-what do you want of me?" Christine choked out.

The man said nothing. Christine could not read his expression, but he had not harmed her yet… was he hesitating again?

"Alasd! Don't you _dare _touch her!" came a loud but breathless voice from behind the man. Erik's voice.

Christine stifled a loud sigh of relief, a relief that was extremely short lived. The man in front of her – what had Erik called him? Alasd? – whipped around, aiming his gun towards the sound of Erik's voice. Without thinking, Christine dove forwards and grabbed the long barrel of the man's rifle, trying to tug it away from him.

"Christine!" Erik cried, afraid the boy might 'accidentally' kill her during their tug of war…

Alasd was finally able to shove the small, sleight woman away from him, and as she stumbled back, he swung the heavy stock of the gun up and hit the side of her face, knocking her to the ground. As an afterthought, he kicked at her with his bad foot; her cry of pain was echoed in his wince.

Before he could turn around again to face Erik, there was a hand wrapped around his throat, only just allowing him enough air.

"Put your gun down," Erik snarled in the boy's ear. After a moment, Alasd complied, letting the rifle fall to the ground.

Erik dragged the Persian man several paces away from Christine before turning around and letting go of his neck, shoving him forward, further away fro her.

"Get out of here," he snarled, "now, before I change my mind."

Alasd stared at him for an instant – was the monster really letting him go? He stumbled back a few steps, then suddenly fell, using it as an excuse to fumble for something hidden in his boot, mumbling murderous words in his native tongue.

Erik stepped forward to hasten the boy's exit, but then jumped quickly back as a small, sharp knife was stabbed at his foot. He tried to kick the knife out of his assailant's hand, but the Persian grabbed his leg and pulled downwards, causing Erik to lose his balance and fall. Alasd rose to his knees and raised his hand, ready to plunge his dagger downwards and finish his task, but Erik quickly pulled up one foot and kicked. The knife flew from his hand, and the boy was propelled backwards and down. Twigs snapped as he slid and rolled through them; there was a loud crack, and then silence. Gingerly, Erik got to his feet and looked down the embankment that he'd thrust the boy down. Three or four yards away, he could see Alasd, lying awkwardly against the base of a tree with his neck at an odd angle and blood on his temple. He couldn't quite believe that it was over; didn't want to believe that he had killed again… but he had to see to Christine…

He hurried over to where she was still lying, almost afraid to see how hurt she was, but the moment he knelt down beside her and gently touched her shoulder, she rolled over with a soft groan to look up at him.

"Is it over?" she asked softly.

He allowed himself to smile in his relief – she was all right.

"Yes, _mon __ange_… it's over now."

* * *

A/N: So, was the climax to your liking? (crosses fingers) I really hope so! Please let me know what you think!!!

There will be two more chapters after this, a denouement and an epilogue. Thanks, everyone, for reading! --Kyrie


	34. Saving Grace

A/N: Sorry this is late... again. I wanted to actually get it beta-ed this time. But it's my birthday; be nice to me. ;D

Thanks very much to everyone who reviewed! That would be Avatarded, phantim-jedi1, Adi Sagestar, SSLE, Elphie89, laal ratty, Timeflies, Songstressgirl, Animekitty47, and akutenshi666.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 34: Saving Grace

_29__th__ June 1881_

Erik helped Christine to her feet, extremely conscious of the way her face contorted in pain as she straightened. There was a red, swollen mark on her face where the boy had hit her, and he knew that by morning it would be purple. And he had no idea whether or not she had been kicked hard enough to cause any sort of damage…

"Are you all right?" he asked, gently taking her chin in his hand and tilting her head to look more closely at her bruise.

"I'm fine," she assured him, giving him a comforting smile. Tentatively, she pressed her hand to her side and winced. "Just don't have me sing for a few days."

"You really think I would make you sing when you're hurt?" Erik's eyebrows rose incredulously. "I wouldn't-"

"Erik," Christine said quickly, halting him with a hand on his chest, smiling calmly. "It was a joke."

He found that he could only stand there dumbly, staring at her. A joke… yes, of course it had been a joke… Christine was staring up at him curiously, frowning all of a sudden.

"Are you sure _you're _all right? You don't look well…"

"I…" he began, floundering. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, careful not to touch her side, and pulled her close against him. "I'm sorry, Christine… this is all my fault…"

As she leaned against him, Christine was alarmed to find that he was shaking. Quickly, she pulled her head up, but he looked away from her. Could he be crying…?

"Erik, look at me," she told him softly. He complied after a moment, his face stony and blank, but his eyes overly bright.

"What's wrong? It's all right… we're both fine…" she reminded him, knowing that it was better to smile and comfort him than to show how scared she had been moments before…

"I…"

"Let's go home, Erik… come on, Akilah will be waiting for you, I'm sure," she said, taking his arm and nearly dragging him through the trees. He had to smile at her methods of taking his mind off things as she rambled non-stop to him on the way, trying not to sound worried.

Sure enough, however, Akilah nearly leapt at them the moment they walked through the door, but after taking a good look at them, she held back, giving a curiously concerned little _mrrow_. The little white cat trotted immediately towards the music room, making sure that her two humans were following. As soon as Erik had sunk into his armchair, Akilah jumped up and curled up on his lap, purring very loudly and telling him quite clearly that she wasn't letting him out of her sight for a good long while. Christine laughed at the cat's protective glare as she sat down on the floor beside Erik.

"Are you sure nothing's wrong?" she reminded him softly.

"It's just… I got him killed… I killed someone… again. He was only a boy; he didn't really want to hurt anyone…"

"You tried… there wasn't anything else you could do," Christine reasoned.

"This whole thing is my fault. He called me a monster, and he was right! I'm a murderer." He couldn't look at her as he spoke; instead, he looked down at his hands, staring at them as though they were the most loathsome insects he had ever seen. Those hands had spilled blood…

Suddenly Christine's hand was in his, her thumb brushing gently against his knuckles.

"You're _not _a monster, Erik," she insisted.

"You only say that because you've never seen what I've done… I could have gotten you _killed_ today! You could have died because of my hideous past actions-"

"But I'm fine. Nothing's happened to me."

"You're _hurt_-"

"I'll be _fine_," she insisted.

Erik looked up to meet her eyes for a moment; she was so insistent on his innocence… how could he explain to her that it wasn't true?

"I don't know how to explain the things I've done to you to make you understand… but… I nearly lost you today; you, the only person I have ever known to truly care about me… and it would have been my fault."

She was crying. He cursed himself silently, looking away again.

"I should never have brought any of this down on you… I should leave before I cause you any more harm."

"No! You can't leave. I won't let you!"

He laughed softly at the thought that she could stop him if he truly set his mind to it… but in truth, her presence was more of a barrier than he wanted to admit to himself.

"Don't laugh, I mean that… you can't leave me. Please…"

"I couldn't bear the thought of bringing you harm. I'm dangerous, Christine-"

"The danger has passed!" she insisted. "Erik… do you remember that story I told you? The one about the Angel of Music?"

"I am no angel! Far from one, in fact."

"Just listen to me!" she cried, her voice breaking. "I told you the story itself, yes, but I didn't mention an important part… Papa never told that story to me alone. _Maman_ was always there with him, and whenever he told it he would look over at her from time to time, and she would smile and take his hand… and I always knew that there wasn't just the one Angel of Music. My mother was my father's angel… you are mine. And don't protest and tell me that you're not," she added quickly, raising a hand to cut him off. "I can be just as stubborn as you if I like, and I won't lose you now… not like Papa lost my mother…"

Erik was speechless as she fell silent. How he had succeeded in finding this wonderful woman who cared for him so much he would never know, but no matter how much he feared for her safety, he knew that, in reality, he could never leave her. And she was probably right – the danger had passed.

"You're lucky I'm a very selfish man, _mon__ange_," he whispered, leaning towards her.

"Not selfish at all… Akilah and I would quite simply refuse to let you leave, isn't that right?" The little cat gave a satisfied purr and snuggled into her place in Erik's lap. Christine laughed, then let her head drop to Erik's knee. "I'm not letting you go anywhere without me," she added quietly.

Tentatively, Erik raised one hand and ran his fingers through her soft curls.

"What would I do without you, Christine?" She looked up and smiled.

"You would probably drag that poor cat halfway around the world and back," she teased.

"Christine, I-"

"Wait…" she said, suddenly knitting her eyebrows together. She sat up, raising a hand up to his face, moving to lift his mask away.

"What are you doing?" he cried, jerking back from her hand.

"I want to see _you_, Erik. You hide from me when you wear that thing. I want to know what your expression really is… I want you, not a façade."

He said nothing, but neither did he move as she slowly pulled his mask away. She smiled as she placed it on the floor beside her, gently caressing the twisted side of his face with her fingertips. She would never cease to amaze him.

"Christine… I love you," he told her softly, covering her hand with his.

She beamed, looking happier than he had ever seen her.

* * *

A few hours later, they were able to persuade Akilah that he was only going to walk her home and so could dislodge Erik from underneath his cat. He grabbed his mask from the floor and settled it back into place, ignoring a disapproving look from Christine.

"I'll send him straight back," she promised as the white cat glared up at her from the armchair.

The walk back seemed to take no time at all, in Erik's mind – was he really dreading coming face-to-face with Christine's cousin again that much? He noticed that Christine seemed a bit nervous about something as well…

Sure enough, Lucien was waiting for them; as soon as they stepped into sight of the front door, he slammed it open and stalked towards them.

"I want you to… Christine! What has he done to you?" Lucien snapped, suddenly noticing the gradually darkening bruise on her face.

"He didn't hurt me, Lucien, he saved my life today!"

Lucien stared at her, puzzled, for a moment, before rounding on Erik again.

"I want you to stay away from my cousin, you hear?"

Out of the blue, the lanky young man staggered backwards, putting his hand up to his face and staring at the usually so demure Christine, whose hand was still raised to strike out at him again.

"I tell you that he saved my life, and you ignore even that? Lucien! Whatever you may think of me, I can take care of myself! I can make my own choices! And I choose him; nothing, least of all you and your pigheadedness, can change my mind."

Erik had to keep back a laugh at seeing her so angry and protective; for such a petite woman, she was fierce!

"Ah, Monsieur Barré! How nice to see you again!" Frederek Daaé called from the doorway. "Won't you come in?"

Shooting a sidelong glance at Lucien, Erik nodded.

"Only for a moment," he insisted, however.

"Christine, what happened? You've got a bruise…" Her father looked concernedly down at her.

"I… well…" Christine began, floundering for an explanation.

"Never mind. You can explain later. Come in, Monsieur Barrè, come in."

Naturally, with Frederek and the amiable LaGranges, one moment did not stay one moment. It appeared as though he would have to face Akilah's wrath when he did return home, but he found that he was _enjoying_ himself. Never had he been so comfortable amongst other people; he and Christine were able to sit together and listen, mostly, as Viv and Garran teased each other, and Lucien, Frederek, and Eliot argued amiably and Majorie fussed over all of them. He finally decided it best to head back a little before sunset.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" Christine asked as she accompanied him to the door. She kept her voice low so that her family, two rooms away, could not hear her.

"Of course, if you wish."

"I'd like to see you every day," she said coquettishly, wrapping an arm around his neck and reaching up for a kiss. Naturally, he didn't refuse.

At the other end of the small foyer, Vivienne stood with a smirk on her face, holding back a giggle. When she deduced that her cousin had quite finished, she trotted up to the two of them and suddenly gave Erik a hard poke in the arm. Puzzled, he turned to look down at her.

"Definitely not a ghost. You're too solid," the girl said with a grin, then she slipped away again.

Erik stared after her for a moment, then turned back to Christine. The two of them immediately burst out laughing.

"I guess that means she approves," Christine said playfully.

"Well, thank you, Vivienne," Erik replied, a mischievous gleam in his grey eyes as he bent to kiss her again. For once in his life, he was looking forward to spending time in the company of people… of course, with Christine always at his side. Something told him that, whatever happened, there would certainly never be a dull moment.

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A/N: There's just the epilogue left now. And, so you don't worry about my being late again, I'd really like to post it on Saturday rather than Friday. It's just soooo much easier...

So, everyone will give me a nice birthday present and review, right:D

Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	35. Epilogue

A/N: (winces) Well, here it is... the epilogue.

Thanks to Elphie89, Nyasia A. Maire, phantim-jedi1, Timeflies, laal ratty, DCI Panda, Songstressgirl07, Animekitty47, Adi Sagestar, The-Lonely-Child, and akutenshi666 for their reviews!

Enjoy...

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Chapter 35: Epilogue

_15__th__ October 1881_

Vivienne and Christine were alone in the front room of their home; Christine was curled up in an armchair, reading, while Viv was plunking out nonsensical chords on the small pianoforte that had been Erik's gift for Christine's twentieth birthday a few weeks previously. Since then, it had become a gift for the whole family, as Frederek had found a piano student in town, and Erik had been teaching the twins a few simple songs.

"Where's Erik, Christine? He hasn't been here for a while. And I've been practicing too!"

Christine looked up from her book and smiled at her cousin.

"He's in Paris, remember? He said something about visiting an old friend. He'll be home soon," she explained.

Viv sighed – she had grown to enjoy Erik's visits nearly as much as Christine did. Even her stubborn older brother had gotten used to their friend's presence. She returned to running her fingers up and down the piano, while her cousin turned another page in her book.

Christine winced when Viv played a blatantly wrong note in her scales.

"It's B flat, not B natural," she reminded her. "Remember what Erik said about accidentals…"

"I know, I know, they're not there by accident," Viv parroted, and then the two girls burst out laughing yet again at the thought of the serious Erik thinking up such a silly way to remember sharps and flats.

* * *

Leaves blew in through the doorway as Erik shut it behind him. His house looked a little dusty and neglected, but nevertheless he was glad to be home.

In an instant, Akilah jumped down from her perch on his shoulder, stretched, and trotted off to curl up in her favorite chair again; something she'd been deprived of for a week. She was especially glad to be home; Paris and Nadir's flat had funny smells that made her sneeze.

Erik followed her into the music room, setting down his knapsack and chuckling a little as he pulled out the neatly bound manuscript of music Nadir had sheepishly presented him with. Well, he _had_ said that he could keep some of his music when he'd left Paris three years before… According to Nadir, Erik Boniface was the most well-known composer in the city those days. He thumbed through the book again, absently humming some of the tunes. For popular music, much of it was rather dismal… he hadn't written anything like this for a long while. Not since he'd met Christine… and he much preferred the music he wrote with her in mind.

He nearly burst out laughing as he remembered the look on Nadir's face when he told him about Christine and her family, how they had essentially adopted him over the past few months. He'd never known what it was like to have a family before… he found that it was better than he could have imagined.

Absently, he put his hand into his coat pocket, making sure the gift he'd gotten for Christine was still there. It would be better not to put it off for too long… he grabbed his hat from the top of the piano, where he'd set it down not five minutes before, and headed towards the door.

He was interrupted by an aggravated yowl. Akilah stretched and trotted over to him, although her expression was clearly irritated with his going out _again _so soon after they had gotten home. After the incident with Alasd a few months previously, she had decided that she'd had more than enough of being left behind and followed him absolutely everywhere. Now, of course, was no exception.

"You're getting to be more like a dog than a cat, you know," he told her as she obstinately followed him out the door, glaring up at him in an affronted manner. "Well, suit yourself."

It took him less time to reach Christine's than usual – or was he just not paying attention? It seemed that someone was watching for him, because he hadn't quite gotten to the front door yet when Vivienne came running out, calling a greeting to Erik before bending down to scoop up his cat. Akilah immediately began to purr; for all her fuss, she enjoyed coming to Christine's as well. She'd never had that many people to pet her before.

Christine followed her cousin out the door in a somewhat more dignified manner, but she immediately threw her arms around him.

"Welcome home," she told him quietly when she'd finally released him. She slipped her arm through his as they went inside, following Viv – who was still carrying Akilah.

"_Maman_! Erik's back!" Viv cried excitedly as she darted into the kitchen.

Erik had to laugh. Having someone announce his presence in excitement rather than fear was… new, to say the least.

"Everyone's taken a liking to you," Christine said, echoing his thoughts.

"It seems they have… I'm grateful. Otherwise it would be agonizing to spend any time with you."

Hours passed by quickly. He had never quite understood the concept of having fun in the company of others before, but Christine's welcoming family had showed him. How had he managed all this time without her?

Luckily, he was able to steal a moment alone with her, while the others were clearing up from supper. Christine's aunt had practically chased the two of them out of the kitchen.

"You haven't told me how Paris was," she reminded him, sounding curious.

"Oh, much the same as it was when I left three years ago. There haven't been any more revolts, if that's what you mean."

"No!" she said with a laugh. "Even way out here, we would have heard about something like that. How is your friend?"

"Nadir? Fine. Very surprised to see me… he'd thought I'd disappeared for good." He coughed a little uncharacteristically. "He didn't believe me, at first, when I told him about you."

"Oh?" she replied, raising an eyebrow. "And why not?"

"You know very well why not," he said, falsely irritable. "He always considered me to be worse than the most inveterate bachelor."

"Well, you've certainly proved him wrong."

"In a way…" He coughed again. "I… brought something for you…"

He fished in his pocket for the small, square box and handing it to her, more than a little nervously.

"Thank you," she said, sounding puzzled. What in the world…?

When she opened it, she gasped and nearly dropped the box. Inside was a small gold ring… she looked quickly back up at Erik, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Christine…" he began, reaching up to run his fingers through her hair, "will you… will you marry me?"

For a moment, she only stared at him; he thought he'd horrified her somehow.

The next instant, she'd thrown her arms around his neck.

"Yes," she whispered in his ear.

Erik pulled back to look at her, hardly believing that she had agreed. He smiled.

"You're telling your father," he said with a laugh before bending down to kiss her.

From the other end of the hallway, Vivienne and Garran were watching intently, with Akilah at their feet. Well, two of them were watching intently.

"Gross," Garran muttered. "Why did you drag me over to watch this, Viv?"

"Don't be silly, Garran," Viv whispered back. "I think it's sweet."

"Well, you're the one being silly. Come on. Let's go get some dessert." Garran turned and hurried off in the other direction, eager to get away from his cousin and Erik.

Viv rolled her eyes and sighed.

"_Boys_," she muttered. "Well, come on, Akilah."

Viv slipped away too, but Akilah stayed to watch longer. She was resigning herself to the fact that she would have to share Erik now. She began innocently washing her tail when they finally turned to look in her direction. Ah well.

She supposed that she had to get used to it quickly. Silly humans.

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A/N Well, there you have it. The End. I have a few notes, however...

To be perfectly honest, I'm really not satisfied at all with the way the last few chapters have come out. Unfortunately, I really haven't the time at the moment to do this story justice. I also didn't want to leave you hanging. So, what I'm planning to do is go back when I have more time (and my Phantomy muse is not completely overtaken by my fantasy world muse) and fix things up. I do apologize for the resultant mediocre quality of some of these last chapters... it will be fixed!

Secondly; I know I usually like to start posting a new story just before I've finished the last one, but, due to the circumstances that have muddled this one up, I haven't got a new fanfic at the moment. Terribly sorry, but I'm afraid I need to take a break from fanfiction for a little while. I will be back, though, I promise!

Thirdly; thanks very, very much to everyone who has reviewed! I really appreciate it.

Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


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